The Rookie Chronicles
by Obsidian Productions
Summary: The Rookie has a name. He's got a face, a past and a voice. From New Jerusalem to the rainy streets of New Mombasa and beyond, this is his story.
1. Part I: The Smell of Ashes

–_**The Rookie Chronicles–**_

A Novel by Obsidian Productions

_**Part One: New Jerusalem**_

**Chapter 01  
><strong>_-The Smell of Ashes-_

New Jerusalem was burning.

Jason DuPree didn't need the intel, the comms chatter or the reports to tell him that. He could see it, plain and clear, as he shrieked across the sky in hollow tube of metal just thick enough to keep his ass from frying. He was coming in hot with about two dozen others, the ODST portion of the Twenty Sixth Marine Expeditionary Force. They were planning on landing smack dab in the middle of the chaos: Mount Haven. Nestled in the center of a horseshoe mountain range, it was being pounded hard by the Covenant for no discernible reason. ONI was still working on the radio chatter from their BattleNet for that bit of data.

But no one in the Twenty Sixth needed to know the _why_ of the situation. All the Marines had lost so much to the Covenant, and their trigger fingers were itching for some payback. Jason was with them. His main objective was offensive: kill Covenant. Life, literally, did not get any simpler. The Marines had the fun job of civilian evac.

Jason could hear chatter over the comm network the ODST pods shared. Someone was blaring death core rock music from some previous century. Technically an extreme violation, but the squad commander, Sergeant Billings, had never cared. Not so long as it didn't interfere with the mission. Jason checked the clock. They still had something like two minutes to kill. Two minutes in the inferno-like, hellish interior of the drop pod were a long two minutes indeed. He kept staring out the from window of his pod at the approaching city.

The fighting was obvious. He could see plasma bolts and tracers burn sizzling lines across the sky. He slammed past some Banshees and Longswords on the way down.

_"__One minute!" _Billings screamed over the comms.

The music cut out, leaving an eerie, somehow louder silence, accompanied by the rattling of the pod. Jason had double-checked his assortment, battle rifle and shotgun, locked and loaded with the safeties off. He was ready to rock n' roll, and throw some lead at any Covenant bastard he could get in his sights.

_"__Thirty seconds!"_

It looked as if they were burning towards an industrial zone: warehouses and work-yards. The city was close now. Jason could see obvious fighting. It looked like they were going to crash smack dab in the middle of a massive group of Covenant threatening to overwhelm a group of pinned down Marines. And then, suddenly, there was no more time to think. Only to act. The pod slammed into the earth with all the force of a MAC round. Jason popped the door and burst out onto the scene. Chaos burned around him like liquid fire.

He could hear frantically shouted orders and shrieking hysteria as he raced from his pod, which had smashed into the middle of a body-strewn street, towards cover. He found it, diving behind the burnt, steel hulk of a wrecked vehicle. Only a handful of ODSTs had made it anywhere near his drop zone. As usual, at least in his experience, his squad was scattered to the four winds inside of a two kilometer grid.

Battle rifle ready, Jason popped up and scoped out the competition. A contingent of Elites were scattered across the street behind various bits of debris for cover, with a collection of Grunts and Jackals backing them up. Most of them were facing away from him, plinking at a group of Marines trapped at an intersection, hiding in and behind a wrecked, burning Pelican. However, a group of a half dozen huge, intimidating looking Elites in blue and purple armor were marching towards Jason. He looked around desperately for his other ODSTs, but he could only see one other pod for sure, and it hadn't opened yet.

Part of him knew, right then, that it never would. At least not by the man on the inside. That only seemed to spur him on further. Jason hurled a pair of fragmentation grenades at the approaching Elites, causing them to scatter. He raised his battle rifle and traced the movements of the one nearest to the twin eruptions of flaming metal shrapnel. The blast killed its shields and left its head exposed. Jason didn't give the bastard a second chance. He earned his first kill on New Jerusalem right then and there with a headshot.

The Elite went down and Jason was forced to drop back behind his cover as several streams of plasma fire converged on his position. He steadied himself, then headed around for the other side of the vehicle. This was going to be tough. He peered around the corner and caught one of the bastards rushing him. His aim steady, he began squeezing off the three-round bursts as quickly as he could. The shots caught the Elite in the chest. They bounced off at first, but then caused the big alien to stumble backwards.

When the shield failed, he put three rounds through the Elite's heart and sent it crashing to the ground. Only too late did he realize that two of the survivors had used this opportunity to rush him. He turned the barrel on them, two huge targets, heavily armored and shielded, and knew that he was going to have to pull something pretty amazing out of his ass to survive this one. Only he didn't. A single shot rang out, loud among the chaos, and suddenly one of the Elites smashed to the ground. The other began to get a grip on what was happening about the time a second shot rang out, and put its brains all over the pavement.

As the second body fell, the other two Elites shifted focus. They pointed their plasma rifles at the man in dark armor situated on the warehouse rooftop across the street. Jason began firing on them, drawing at least one stream of plasma back to him. He heard two more shots ring out, and then the gunfire ceased.

_"__That's six,"_ Paulson murmured over Jason's comm line, his voice a whisper with a ghost of a smile in it. Jason snorted.

"And I've got six all my own on your ass."

Paulson chuckled, another shot rang out. Followed by two more. Back when Jason had been considered green as grass when he'd hopped into the Helljumpers, got bumped back down to Private and slopped in with the Twenty Sixth, Paulson the Sniper had saved his ass five times. Jason was still working to even the score.

With Paulson at his back, capping off Elites who were quickly beginning to realize that something was seriously going wrong, Jason began sweeping his way towards the Marines. He took care of the little bastards, Grunts and Jackals, with quick, effective three-round bursts from his battle rifle. The corpses stacked up like firewood and the two ODSTs painted the town, well, not exactly red...more like phosphorescent blue and deep purple.

As the Marines realized what was happening, they stepped up their end of the attack with renewed vigor. And before a few minutes had passed, the Covenant in the area were nothing more than a handful of corpses. Paulson came down from his warehouse perch and joined Jason as he converged with the Marines.

They looked in sad, sorry shape. A collection of battered, bloody men, numbering up to five with only a frazzled, battle-stricken Corporal as the ranking member. He stood before Jason and Paulson while the other four policed up the remaining guns and ammo off their dead friends. Jason glanced briefly at Paulson. Technically, Paulson was the ranking member, a Corporal, with Jason just a lowly PFC. But Paulson was a quiet one, more willing to take orders than to give them. Jason, on the other hand, had no problem giving orders.

"What's your situation?"

"Bad," the Corporal, Jones, reported. "We were shot down here and overwhelmed. Our Sergeant's dead. We were on our way to a rally point to help get some civvies off the ground...but I don't even know if that rally point is up anymore." Jason nodded. He began to open his mouth when the almighty Billings came onto the air.

_"__Men, regroup on my nav beacon, pronto!" _A small, upside down green triangle appeared on Jason's heads up display.

"Follow us. We'll find use for you," he said to Jones.

The Corporal didn't exactly looked pleased about the remark, but wasn't in any condition to argue. Instead, he turned and told his Marines to gear up and move out.


	2. Part I: Welcome To New Haven

**Chapter 02  
><strong>_-Welcome To New Haven-_

The nav marker pointed them back the way they had come. While Jason led the Marines and Paulson lurked somewhere nearby with his trusty sniper rifle, they came to stop at the unopened ODST drop pod. Jason already knew what was terrible thing lurked inside, but there was a chance that he could be wrong.

"Hold here," Jason said with a raised fist as he approached the pod.

The Marines took up a defensive line and Paulson was silent, just watching. Jason let his rifle hang by its sling and popped the pod. Distantly, and sometimes not so distantly, he could hear the sounds of combat. Explosions and the staccato of gunfire.

He stared into the darkened interior. Held within, like a present from hell, was the corpse of Private Faulkner. The guy was a three year Marine, first year in the ODSTs, and had been thrown onto the Twenty Sixth right before they had come to New Jerusalem. Something had gone wrong with his pod, and his neck had snapped on impact. Jason, silent and sullen and grim, retrieved his ammo and tossed the extra medkit to one of the Marines. There would be no time to bury the poor bastard, there never was. Jason just took one of the dogtags from around his neck, nodded once, sullenly, to the corpse, then closed the pod and carried on.

It was all he could do.

They pressed on down the road, sticking to the sidewalk. The nav marker was almost a full klik away. A real slog through hell, given the circumstances. The sounds of conflict were growing louder and more ferocious.

"Tell me about the situation here," Jason said, falling in step with Corporal Jones. The Marine looked over at him with a sidelong glance.

"Didn't they give you guys any intel?" he asked. Jason glanced over, hidden and faceless behind his opaque secondary visor.

"Tell me what the intel can't." Jones nodded. While they walked, he began telling his tale.

"The Covenant dropped in big time yesterday morning. It's been hell ever since then, all over the planet. We've been holding them off best we could. I was in another city when it happened, Hope. But Hope fell. We were evaced here...they hadn't come to New Haven yet. And then...well, then, they started paying special attention to New Haven. Most of their forces converged here. They want something here, but no one knows what. All we know is that we're trying to get the civvies out. There's talk of offworld evacuations, slipping them past the Covenant, since they seem pretty interested in New Haven."

"They're abandoning the planet already?" Jason asked. Jones nodded grimly.

"It's...New Jerusalem is a done deal, I think. You saw the fleet coming in, I'm sure."

Jason had, he just didn't want to believe it. The UNSC seemed to be doing a half-decent job in the space battle raging overhead...but he knew how quickly and brutally the tide could and more often than not _did_ turn.

The time for talking ended when a flash of blue sizzled past Jason's face, briefly whiting out his vision. As he and the others were scrambling for cover, he heard a single sniper rifle shot ring out, followed by the distant, startled _squawk!_ of a dying Jackal. And just like that they were in knee-deep in the soon to be dead.

Jason made for cover while fresh, burning blood splashed across his visor from one of the Marines. He drowned out the screaming with bursts from his battle rifle. Jones and one of the other Marines fell in line beside him, knelt down behind the wrecked, burning hulk of a vehicle. Jones was shouting something at the others, orders. Jason focused on the group of Covenant currently marching towards them.

He growled and let loose with a barrage of bullets, splattering phosphorescent and deep purple blood across the pavement. Streams and bursts of plasma sizzled over his head. Jason reached up and tried to wipe some of the blood off his visor, ducking back down behind the car. He heard several sniper shots ring out while Paulson went to work from some dark nest. The Elites began falling, their death cries ringing out briefly above the din of chaotic combat.

Jason popped back over the car and did a quick headcount. He came up with an unacceptable amount of enemies. A pair of ODSTs and a handful of Marines could kick ass, sure. But against two dozen Elites backed up by twice that number in Grunts and Jackals? And then his eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he heard the not so distant roar of a Phantom dropship and watched it appear over a half-collapsed apartment building.

The ship settled in down the street and began unloading troops.

"Shit!" Jones snapped. Jason looked around frantically, hunting for any sort of magic bullet that would help out.

And then he found it.

Perched high up among the remnants of a half-crushed hotel, some thoughtful and probably dead bastard had set up a very powerful gauss turret. Jason grinned very darkly. He smacked Jones on the shoulder.

"What?!" Jones screamed over the rattle of his assault rifle.

"Cover fire!" Jason roared in reply, pointing. Jones followed his finger, spotted the turret and nodded. He smacked Jason hard on the shoulder.

"You got the cover, man!"

As soon as Jones spread the word, Jason began the sprint. He raced across the street, the plasma fire around him so thick he could have walked on it. Elites roared and a plasma grenade sizzled just past his visor. He made it to the alleyway next to the ruined hotel and tripped on a dead body, sending him sprawling to the ground, his rifle flying from his hands. Jason heard something behind him, footfalls.

He rolled over onto his back as a shadow fell across the ground. An Elite stood over him and roared with all the fury of hell. Jason grabbed for his shotgun. He still had his god_damned_ shotgun. He brought it to bear and squeezed the trigger. The shield took the brunt of the blast, but the Elite still stumbled. Jason squeezed again. This time, he made one of the biggest messes he'd seen in quite a while.

The Elite's armored chest seemed to implode as it flew backwards, spraying fresh chunks of alien, visceral content everywhere. When nothing else came stomping around the corner, Jason pulled himself to his feet and retrieved the battle rifle. He hurried on down the alley and found a side entrance into the hotel.

Inside, the building was aflame. Smoke made the atmosphere murky and difficult to see through. As Jason plunged within, he felt as if he were wading through the bottom of the ocean. He moved towards the back of the room, hunting for a stairwell to trudge up. Any elevators were definitely out of the question. Jason counted his blessings as he finally found the stairs after several moments of pushing along the furthest back wall he could locate. At least there were no Covenant in here with him. For now, anyway.

He slogged up the stairwell, tripping over bodies twice. He felt his bitterness rising in him like bile as he jogged up the stairs. So many dead for such a poor reason. A reason that he'd never even been able to properly figure out. The Covenant were wiping out Humanity...why? Something like religious racism seemed to be the only answer he'd been told. But what did that matter to him? That'd given him enough reason to want to return the genocidal favor. Yes, he'd fight and he'd even die, if it meant taking out as many of the bastards with him as he could.

Jason finally reached the fourth floor. The smoke was much clearer up here, because there was no roof. Sunshine drenched the corridor he was in, and he ran full tilt down it. The sounds of conflict and hysteria were close at hand. Jason found the gauss turret in a demolished hotel room where half a dozen Marines lay dead, taken out by what looked like a Banshee firing a fuel rod round. At least it hadn't destroyed the turret. Jason let his rifle hang by its sling as he mounted the turret and then looked down onto the battlefield below him.

He had a bird's eye view, and for a moment, the intricacy of the combat, briefly reduced to split-second fragments, flashes like photographs, struck him as beautiful. He blinked, shaking his head, and sighted the Phantom, which had discharged its troops and was pounding the Marine's position. He lined up the weapon, zeroing the sights on the main plasma cannon. He fired. The cannon kicked like a mule and there was a satisfying explosion. When the dust cleared, he saw that the plasma cannon was nothing more than a twisted, sparking heap of metal.

The Phantom had other weapons, though. Jason turned the turret on one of the few remaining Grunts onboard, manning a shade turret. He opened fire and the little bastard vaporized in a brief fireball of methane and plasma. He shot through the Phantom to the other side, where another Grunt manned the final turret.

The Phantom decided it was high time to get out of there at that point and Jason let it. He couldn't take it down in time with just his turret. He turned the large black barrel down on the chaos below. Immediately the ODST began lining up Elites and blasting them straight to hell. Or their version of it, at least.

For the next sixty seconds, he felt like God, high up enough to be out of their reach, but not so high they weren't out of his. He pounded down death from above and only stopped firing when the turret stopped working and became nothing more than a big fancy piece of smoking, sparking scrap metal. Grunts exploded, Jackals vaporized and Elites were sent flying. Two Hunters that were providing some heavy support were reduced to their basic parts. Jason abandoned the turret, hurrying back downstairs.

A few moments later, he was back on the street, watching the Marines police up grenades and ammo. Jones approached him while Paulson scouted ahead. They had made it almost halfway to their nav marker.

"Goddamn, man. Not bad," Jones commented, fiddling with his assault rifle.

"Not too bad yourself," Jason replied. His radio crackled.

_"__DuPree, we gotta move. The way to the nav marker looks clear, for now. Don't know long that'll hold up,"_ Paulson reported.

"Roger that." Jones gave him an inquisitive look. "Come on, we've gotta keep up the initiative. No telling how long this quiet'll last."

Jones nodded tightly and barked at the others. Amazingly, they had only lost one during that skirmish. Jason led the Marines up the street to the nearest turn, which would put them back on course. He found Paulson waiting for him there, the sniper rifle like an extension of himself. He was looking through the scope down the length of the street, which was surprisingly clear.

"I can see the others," he said quietly, not looking at Jason. "They're gathered in the parking lot of a superstore. They're not under attack, for now."

"Alright, we need to get there pronto."

He led the way.


	3. Part I: Regroup

**Chapter 03  
><strong>_-Regroup-_

Jason stared at the horizon. It was painted in burning buildings and gloomy, bitter cloud cover that threatened rain. Ashes, like snow, had begun falling instead. As he marched the last ten meters onto the parking lot, he could hear the chaotic sounds of conflict around him. But it was distant, for the moment. They appeared to be in a dead zone.

The sight of nearly twenty Helljumpers, clad in reflective, slick obsidian armor, securing the area, warmed his heart. As a Marine, he'd first viewed them with something like apprehension. They were madmen with no sense, or that's what someone had told him. And then, when he'd actually worked with them, his apprehension turned to respect. They weren't _all_ madmen, though some of them could be pretty insane.

It was what had motivated him to join. He'd punched his way up the rank to Corporal and, instead of going to Sergeant when they offered, he instead opted to drop back down to Private amongst the ODSTs. Already, he'd kicked his way back up to PFC. And there was talk that they were considering him for a Lance Corporal position. Something he wouldn't mind. Then again, he'd have to survive New Jerusalem for that to happen.

Jason took in the superstore parking lot, packed with ruined, derelict vehicles and bodies from both sides. Too many of them were civilians. The ODSTs had set up the bare basic of a command post. Several of them patrolled around the edge, making sure the area remained secure, while the rest made camp in the center amongst the wrecked vehicles. Jason found Billings and the others staring into a datapad and muttering amongst themselves.

"Ah, looks like the rest of the party has arrived," Billings said, looking up.

His visor was transparent, revealing his grizzly face. Billings was a ten year man, the last seven of them in the ODSTs. Jason would have figured he'd have gotten a promotion by now, but heard the man had refused any rank ups to stay in the field. As a result, he was qualified enough to be a Staff Sergeant, but retained control of his own unit as just a Sergeant.

"Falkner's dead," were the first two words out of Jason's mouth.

From his headcount, and Billings comment that he and Paulson were the last two to arrive, he tallied five deaths in the squad so far. Too high for his liking. Billings grunted.

"Now that you're here, we can get started. Gather round, boys and girls!" he called. The ODSTs along the perimeter came in, and soon they were all gathered amongst the abandoned vehicles, ducking low.

"Got word from Command. New Haven is a hot spot. Still not sure why, but the Covenant have set up a big Command Post at a huge office building. The plan is to sneak in and blow up the building. Local forces are scattered and in terms of fire power, we're the most well-focused group the UNSC's got on the ground right now. Everyone else is either dead or busy elsewhere. It's up to us. That being said, I've got a plan," Billings said with a dark grin.

"From what I can tell about the building, there's five main points of entry. Two above ground, three underground. We're going to split up, get in, plant bombs and get out. Simple. Also, to you Marines who've tagged along," he said, glancing not only at the four Jason had snagged, but also the collection of others who had been discovered, "word from Command is you'll follow my orders. Now, since my orders are to kick the Covenant where it hurts, and seeing as how hard this city has been pounded...I don't think there'll be too much of a problem? Am I right, Marines?" There was a sharp reply of vicious joy.

They wanted revenge.

Everyone wanted it.

"Excellent," Billings said, his grin widening.

All he was missing was a cigar. When Billings began doling out the assigned teams and team leaders, Jason was surprised to find himself in charge of his Marines, Paulson and Hunter, an ODST scout that he hadn't gotten to know very well. Jason wasn't about to question Billings, and neither did Paulson, a Corporal, or Hunter, the same rank as Jason. He could almost taste that Lance Corporal position.

Jason had been given Team Five and pegged with one of the underground entrances. All relevant data was downloaded to his personal database. He, in turn, passed it around to the Marines, Hunter and Paulson, then gave everyone ten minutes to get ready and study up before he planned on heading out.

Jason absentmindedly filled up on ammo for his arsenal, satisfied with what he had, while he studied the data. There was an underground tunnel that connected to another nearby office building, a maintenance tunnel. That would be his point of entry. The maintenance area was going to have to be accessed by an underground parking garage. Last satellite coverage of the area showed it as cold in terms of Covenant, but that probably wouldn't last.

Jason studied the map of the city and quickly realized it was going to be a hard slog. Nearly two kliks through city streets overrun with Covenant and basically no backup. Once he had his route figured out, he looked up at the Marines and pair of Helljumpers.

Hunter and Paulson were hidden behind obsidian visors. The Marines looked haggard and worn. Their armor was burnt and bloodstained. Jones looked back at him with hard eyes. He'd hold. They would all hold. Until the end, however near or far that might be. Jason trusted them. Once they had their gear in place, the group began to head away from the lot.

Billings decided they should split up and attack from all different sides. If they could get even two of the bombs off, it would do a lot of damage and hopefully bring the building down on the Covenant and whatever it was they were doing there.

One of Jones' Marines was carrying the bomb, a pack that held several yellow, brick-shaped C12 shaped charges. They were lightweight, but he stared near the back anyway. One stray shot and they would all go up in smoke.

As Jason led the way with Paulson off the lot and into some back alleys, he glanced up at the sky. The ashes continued to fall like snow, and he found himself wishing for rain.


	4. Part I: Hard Slog

**Chapter 04  
><strong>_-Hard Slog-_

Jason had seen some pretty shitty situations in his life. Even before joining up with the UNSC. And, he thought bitterly as he peered around the corner of the burning convenience store, this one was up on his top ten.

A complex network of alleyways that were _supposed_ to, albeit slowly, take them to their destination were proving to be more hassle than they were worth. Most of them were collapsed or otherwise blocked, and more and more they were running into small Covenant patrols. So far, luck had been kind and the group of ODSTs and Marines hadn't been spotted. Jason knew that he was on his own, that really, there was no back up.

So, when it became obvious that they were going to have to take a more direct route, like walking down the goddamned street, Jason naturally felt the need to do a little scouting. What he saw discouraged him, to say the least. The good news was that, using the alleyways, they'd made it halfway to their destination. And that the road Jason was currently looking down was a straight shot to the big building he needed to get into.

The bad news was that it was littered with Covenant. Small outposts had been established every one to two blocks, complete with Ghosts, Wraith Tanks and cover from up high by Jackal sniper towers, all peppered with dozens and dozens of troops armed and armored to the teeth. All ready to die for the cause.

Jason had a plan. Being the leader of Team Five, it was his job. With what little he'd had to work with, he set up the plan. Paulson had taken up a sniper's position on the roof of a small, relatively intact cafe. The Marine carrying the bomb, who also happened to be handy with a sniper rifle, joined him, since they couldn't have him rushing off into battle and chance blowing the bomb prematurely. Hunter, being a scout, was the sort of lynchpin to the plan. Jason had sent him ahead with a small amount of the C12 to sneak in and attach to the two Wraith tanks guarding the first of three checkpoints.

Once the explosions went off, they would rush in and, hopefully, overwhelm the Covenant there in all the confusion _before_ the other Covenant in the area rushed in to help. Jason knew this was work better suited for a Spartan, but Humanity seemed to be in short supply of those and as far as he knew, most, if not all of them, had died on Reach. That particular piece of news had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Reach. It was gone. Glassed half to death. The only other piece of data that he'd managed to glean was that only one ship had made it.

And it was missing.

But that was relatively old data. And he had other things on his mind.

"You boys ready?" Jason asked unnecessarily over the comms link. Jones had stayed with him. The other Marines had managed to get across the street and then work their way up almost parallel to the enemy checkpoint. A string of 'affirmatives' came back at him. Hunter was silent, in the midst of his job. Just as Jason began to check his chronometer, more out of nervous habit than anything else, there were a pair of sharp cracks, followed by a series of startled and pained alien shouts. Jason didn't even have to give the order.

He and Jones rushed out of their hiding spot. Above him, beneath a stygian sky that bled ashes, Paulson and the other Marine opened fire with their rifles. Jason opened fire with his battle rifle, sighting a clutch of Grunts rushing for parked Ghosts. He kept his aim true, his breath calm, his hands steady. He began picking them off, blowing their heads open in sharp, three-round bursts. Bright blue phosphorescent blood sprayed as their little bodies smashed to the ground. He could hear Jones, firing beside him.

Elites and Brutes were shouting orders. Plasma fires burned, outlining them against the chaos, making them that much easier targets. Jason hurled a pair of frag grenades while he made for cover behind the ruins of some half-collapsed building. By the time he snapped his rifle back up from behind a large piece of concrete, the grenades had gone off. Jones was already taking his shots. As Jason joined him, always aiming for the head, he could see the other Marines with assault rifles, firing from their defensive position.

Chaos boiled around them. One of the Elites managed to get to a Ghost and was making fast headway towards Jason. His eyes widened as the immediate threat became the most obvious. He fired until all the bullets were gone, and still the Elite came. As it opened fire and got within ten meters, there was a sharp crack and suddenly the Elite's skull was gone. The Ghost smashed to the ground, shrieking to a halt, sparks flying.

Jason mentally thanked Paulson as he vaulted over the piece of concrete and slid into the controls of the Ghost. This had to be fast. They'd already taken down half the forces at the first checkpoint, but there were reinforcements on the way. Jason worked the controls, bringing the hovering vehicle about face. More Brutes were on their way to him and Paulson and the other Marine were already focusing on distant targets, allowing the men on the ground to clean up what was left. Jason got to cleaning.

He shot forward, hitting all of the Brutes with the front of the Ghost and sending them flying through the air. Jones shot any that survived the hit. Jason pressed on, adrenaline racing through his veins. He scanned the hazy battlefield for what was left, and saw that the deadliest of enemies were in the form of a group of Jackals.

He rushed towards them. It was like a knife cleaving through butter. The Jackals went flying like ninepins. Jason brought the Ghost back while the Marines mopped up what little resistance was left.

"Form up!" he roared.

The Marines rushed into a pair of hovering towers in the center of the intersection, snatching up Covenant Beam Rifles and going to work on the impending backup. Jason grinned darkly, gripping the controls of the Ghost, as he watched heads burst and vehicles crash into buildings, absent of living drivers. Jason prepared himself for the stragglers, anyone that might make it to the first checkpoint to cause problems.

But the others were fast and good with their rifles. The so-called backup didn't make it, leaving the second checkpoint mostly empty. Activating his zoom function, Jason realized that what survivors had been left behind were now hurrying towards the third and final checkpoint to fortify their position. He grinned.

They were almost making this easy.

"Round up weapons and ammo, and let's go!" he called.

Jason abandoned the Ghost. They provided too little in the way of cover and he'd never been very good on them. One of the Marines took it over for him, and Jason wished him luck. The third checkpoint was out of range, so Paulson and the other Marine hurried to join the others.

Once they were on the ground, Jason led the charge. They rushed down the street, in between broken and burning vehicles, dodging the occasional flare of blue from a beam rifle. The Marine in the Ghost stayed ahead of them, firing at the towers in the distance, hoping for a lucky shot. Jason scanned the area for Hunter, and it occurred to him that the ODST was thinking ahead. Way ahead. Hunter was probably already near the third check point, getting ready to do some real damage. He liked that in a soldier.

Jason knew things were getting serious when the head of the Marine driving the Ghost vaporized in a bright blue spray. They were close, now. Close enough. As the body dropped, Jason fell to his knees behind a wrecked vehicle, sighting the nearest Covenant: an assault party of Elites advancing on them. Paulson already began working on the Jackals in the tower. Jason let loose, firing off three-round bursts with the others while the Elites advanced.

They only managed to take down two of the ten before the other eight scattered among the maze of debris and vehicles. Jason swallowed nervously and switched out his rifle for his shotgun. This was going to get close quarters, and going toe to toe with something two and a half feet taller than you and four times as powerful was never fun.

While Paulson and the bomb-toting Marine continued to work at a longer range, he, Jones and the one surviving Marine prepared for the inevitable close quarters combat scenario. He tried to keep track of the Elites moving among the maze of cars, but quickly lost sight of most of them. Instead, he focused on the one he thought was closest to him. Jason kept low, crouching, shotgun at ready. He peered around the front of the car...and found himself staring into the ugly black eyes of an Elite. Jason screamed and squeezed the trigger.

The Elite's head vaporized in a plume of purple gore. Its decapitated body collapsed into Jason's lap, spurting blood all over his armor. As he shoved it aside, he heard someone shout a warning right about the time a big Elite fist wrapped around a plasma rifle sailed through the air and connected with his helmet. Jason cried out as he flew onto his back. His visor cracked and his HUD flickered, briefly showing static around the edges. Jason raised the shotgun, somehow managing to maintain his grip on it, and squeezed again. The second Elite fell on top of the first, half its skull blown away. More blood dribbled onto his visor.

Jones and the other Marine were engaged in combat elsewhere, nearby and yet far away. Two down, six to go. Jason rose to his feet and swayed briefly. Burning pain tore through his skull and he was dizzy, he thought he spotted an Elite nearby and shouldered the shotgun, pounding out a round and cocking the gun, preparing for a second shot.

"Christ, DuPree! That's my _head_!" Jones cried. Jason blinked, he could feel something wet, like tears, on his cheek, leaking from his eye.

"Sorry!"

Plasma burst across his vision and sent him stumbling as it punched into his armor like burning fists. He spun and fell down on his ass, sighting a third Elite and punching a hole straight through its chest. At this close of range, his shotgun might well have been a cannon. He cocked the slide back again and knew he'd have to reload someday. He scrambled to his feet again as he heard someone screaming.

Jason turned just in time to see the other Marine, the man who's name he'd never learned, was caught with a plasma grenade. And he was running towards a fourth and fifth Elite, who were desperately trying to get away from the living bomb one of them had stupidly made. Jason's visor darkened as the three of them lit up in a brilliant blue-white flare. Jason cursed briefly and then staggered back to cover. Three left. He heard a gunshot, then, and Jones gave the all clear. Overhead, he could hear two sniper rifles working into overtime.

Jason blinked in frustration. The crack running down his visor was beginning to bug him. He made the visor transparent, and that seemed to make the crack less noticeable. His eye still felt like it was leaking, though. He ignored it for the moment, regrouping with Jones.

"Let's move," he said. Jones gave him a funny look. "What?"

"Your...eye, is bleeding," the Marine replied. Jason sighed.

"Wonderful," he grumbled. "I'll deal with it later. Come on."

Jones followed silently. Leaving Paulson and the other Marine behind, Jason crouched low, leading Jones down the left side of the street. Up ahead, things seemed quiet. As he made the final approach to the third and final checkpoint, he found a heap of headless corpses.

_"__How'd I manage?" _Paulson asked over the link.

"Not bad. Average, I'd say," Jason replied.

_"__Oh, whatever,"_ Paulson growled with a smirk in his voice.

As Jason began to come out into the open, a battle cry startled him, causing him to swing around. Out of an alleyway, a Brute had managed to stay out of the shooting gallery the street had become. It was coming towards Jason. The ODST raised his shotgun, but then paused as the Brute let out a furious howl of pain and tripped, landing on its face and sliding a few feet.

Hunter, silent and lethal, was on the Brute's back, his hand on the hilt of a knife stuck in the big alien's neck.

"You're bleeding," he said quietly as he pulled the knife out and stabbed the Brute once more, for good measure. He stood and sheathed the knife.

"So I've been told."

As Paulson and the other Marine wielding the bomb came forward to join them, Jason looked up at the building they were expected to infiltrate. It _looked _easy, but looks were like luck: a crap shoot. He could hear more conflict nearby. The other ODST squads.

"Come on, we need to hurry," Jason said, leading the way towards their ingress into the building. The others followed.


	5. Part I: Beneath

**Chapter 05  
><strong>_-Beneath-_

Jason's head hurt. He wished he could take off his helmet and rub his temples. Instead, he tried to ignore it. The shotgun remained his weapon of choice as he led the others into the lobby of the office building. Hunter and Paulson split off, scurrying along either side of the lobby, checking the entryways and exits. Jason led Jones deeper in, hunting for stragglers and survivors, while the Marine holding the bomb, whose name Jason had finally learned was White, guarded the door. A minute later, they all converged at the back of the room.

It was clear of enemies, devoid of life save for themselves. That wouldn't last, Jason suspected. With three checkpoints taken out, it probably wouldn't be long before more Covenant came to investigate. He planned to be deep underground before then. He could only hope that the other ODSTs and whatever forces remained in the city were keeping the Covenant in the area busy.

"Not the elevator?" White asked.

Jason glanced back at him. He was good with a sniper rifle, and he had offered to carry the bomb, but really, he was a kid. Barely into his twenties, it seemed. Maybe not even that. Jason didn't know, but he suspected Haven was his first deployment. He decided to go a little easy on him.

"Not the elevator," he confirmed, stepping through a door at the back of the room that led to a deep stairwell.

Jason led the way, marching silently onward. While he pushed into the dark depths, the stairwell lit only by a few flickering lights, he lost himself inside of his head. In quiet little moments like this, when he couldn't sleep and had to walk or wait, he busied himself with thinking. It helped pass the time.

Surviving for five years in the military in a galaxy where your race was being systematically hunted and killed by a vastly superior alien race was no small feat. He'd killed a fair share of Covenant, and seen far too many people die, good and bad. He had a small network of scars across his body to show for his suffering: plasma burns, broken bones, friendly fire. Medical technology had come far, but he had them leave some of the scars.

What few friends he'd made among the stars thought he was crazy for joining the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. He agreed with them. He _was_ crazy. That's why he did it. For a while, he was sick of being alive. He was exhausted from killing and fighting to survive. For a while...all he'd wanted to do was die with a bit of dignity. The only real problem? The longer you fought and lived, the better you got at it.

At this point in his life, having just passed into the age of twenty four a few months ago, Jason was a veteran of survival skills and combat tactics. His combat senses had been finely honed. As he fought for survival beneath black armor and a dark visor, he'd pushed through his suicidal urges into something new. Something beyond. He wasn't quite sure what it was, only that he no longer wanted to die. Haven was new territory for him in more ways than geographical. Jason didn't know _what_ he wanted out of life anymore.

So, he just killed and kept doing this whole 'fight for survival' thing in the meantime. It was serving him, and the people around him, well. Jason sharpened up as he reached the bottom of the stairwell. No more time for thinking, he was heading back into hostile territory. The stairwell ended in a small room that led to a locker room on one side and a storage room on the other. Both were empty. Ahead was the maintenance tunnel.

Jason could hear the Covenant on the other side. He glanced through a small window in the door. This was going to be easy. The tunnel was long, but narrow. They were coming towards him, maybe the backup for upstairs.

"Grenades on my mark," he said, his finger hovering over the keypad next to the door. Everyone prepared a combination of frag and plasma grenade. He had a single frag himself, readying it, pulling the pin and keeping the detonator in place.

"Mark!" he snapped, slapping the open button.

The door slid open. An Elite and a Brute were leading the collection of nearly twenty Covenant, stretching the length of the corridor. They looked very surprised as a half dozen grenades flew in, most of them sailing over their heads to land in the midst of the others.

Jason slapped the button once more and the door sealed shut. There were several muffled shouts, and then the door began denting outwards as the explosions started sounding off. The group backed well away from the doors, retreating to the two rooms on the sides. The entire thing lasted nearly ten seconds before all the grenades had finished going off, including the ones being carried by the Covenant.

When Jason returned to the door, he stared through the now cracked and blackened window. He couldn't see hardly anything, but nothing was moving, so he hit the access button. The door managed to slide up a little over halfway before being stuck by all the dents in it. He sighed and knelt down, staring through the opening. The basic structure of the corridor had remained intact, but now the lights were flickering, and blood and body parts were everywhere. Scorch marks and plasma burns were the new choice decorum.

Jason went first, ducking under. He led the group down the passageway across pieces of Covenant, hurrying down the corridor. For now, they were underground in that silent, flickering corridor. He couldn't hear anything but the others. As they began to reach the other side, he finally tried to get in contact with Sergeant Billings.

_"__What is it? Are you on target?"_ Billings asked. He sounded distracted.

"Almost, Sergeant. What's the status of the other teams?"

_"__Team Two is dead. Teams Three and Four are in position. I'm pounding on the front door with Team One at the moment, we're at half strength. Just get back to me when you've got the bomb in place and primed. And remember, once you do, run like hell and get to the designated meeting zone. Aw, shit!"_ There was a loud explosion, followed by a hail of gunfire. Jason left Billings to it. The Sergeant could take care of himself.

"Let's move."

Jason peered through the window in the door at the end of the corridor, similar to the original. This one led to a small antechamber attached to a maintenance storage sector and a parking garage. Their final destination was maintenance storage, followed by a (hopefully) easy escape through the garage. After that? Another hard slog to the designated regrouping location and then...well, something, hopefully.

Jason led the group into the maintenance storage sector. Something exploded overhead, causing the entire area to shake and the lights of flicker. Dust wafted down from the ceiling. Jason hesitated nervously, had one of the bombs gone off already? But when nothing else happened for several seconds, he finally kept going. They slowly made their way through the maintenance sector. Except for the Covenant in the corridor, it appeared to be an empty area. Jason kept the navigational marker in his line of sight, they weren't far now.

He found the site without incident: a small room crammed with crates in the center of the storage complex.

"Here," he said. White, relieved to be free of the pack, shrugged out of it and set it gently down at the back of the room. Jason was already contacting Billings.

"Sergeant, our pack is in place. What's the status of the others?"

_"__Not good, DuPree!" _Billings roared back over the channel, causing Jason to wince. He could hear plasma fire and explosions. _"__We're pinned down in the lobby, but that's not the big deal. Team Four is out, heading for the rally point. Team Three has planted their bomb and taken mine to get it where it needs to go. They're almost there. But there's something I need you to do. Get up top, Team Two's bomb never made it to where it was supposed to go. Get it, plant it and then haul ass. I'll get you a new marker."_

Jason glanced up as the new nav marker appeared on his HUD. He gripped his shotgun tightly and turned to the others.

"You heard the man, let's go."


	6. Part I: Groundbreaking

**Chapter 06  
><strong>_-Groundbreaking-_

The office building was a complete mess. The hallway they were making their way down was coated in bullet holes, blood and burn marks. A collection of corpses from both sides of the war were spread out like speed bumps along the floor. They'd made it out of the underground without too much of a problem, only having to take down a mixed squad of Elites and their minions. With two ODSTs and two Marines in tow, Jason had found a stairwell and headed back up top. Already, he could hear the fighting.

Jason was tempted to make for the lobby and help out his pinned down squad mates, but he knew his current objective took priority. Find the bomb, plant the bomb. It was that simple. It should be, anyway.

He was certain that the Covenant in between here and there would see to it that the mission was far from easy. They weren't too far from where they needed to be. At least _that_ was simple. It looked like they'd just have to cover another twenty meters before they reached Team Two's last known location. Unfortunately, twenty meters could mean a lot more in a building. Who knew how many twists and turns they'd have to take?

That wasn't even counting if the Covenant had taken the bomb. Chances were they wouldn't, but you never knew. Jason was still holding onto the shotgun like his life depended on it. More often than he cared to admit, it did. He kept his poise tight, slinking along the far wall and peering cautiously around it into the room beyond. From what Billings had told him, Team Two had been last heard from near some bathrooms.

They'd been pinned down by a group of Brutes and were down to half strength. Then they'd stopped reporting in entirely. Staring down the next hallway, Jason counted his blessings: no twists and turns. Just a straight line. They were there. Jason could see the black, armored body of one of his formerly living teammates. No Brutes, no _living_ Brutes anyway. The half a dozen bloody Covenant corpses were a testament for the price they'd had to pay. Jason led the squad on, glad that they had reached the checkpoint without incident.

The door to the men's bathroom was blown to shit and he found the rest Team Two inside. Kneeling beside each body, he collected all of their dog tags, slipping them into one of the compartments on his suit. The compartment was getting fuller, now. He wondered how many more he'd have to collect before this was over, and who would collect his.

"Take it," Jason said quietly, staring at the backpack still attached to a now headless ODST.

White, apparently accustomed to being the man carrying the bomb, did as he was told and pulled the backpack off the corpse. He slipped it silently onto his shoulders. While Hunter and Jones watched the door, Jason activated his comms unit.

"Sergeant Billings, we have the bomb."

_"__Good!"_ Billings called out in reply through a haze of bullets and explosions. Somewhere, someone was screaming. _"Give me a second, I'll get you the next nav marker!"_ he bellowed. A few seconds later, a new upside down triangle appeared. Forty meters. Piece of cake.

"We're oscar mike," he said, then cut the connection. "Let's go!"

Jogging back down the corridor, making for their next destination, Jason tried not to think. Thinking on the battlefield rarely led to anything good. He just wanted to get this over with. Get this over with and...what, exactly? Even if he were to survive this crazed, chaotic combat, then what? If you were to ask Jason DuPree what he would do if the war were over tomorrow and he got some R and R, he'd probably make up some generic response. Because, in all honesty, Jason realized with sour remorse that he didn't quite _want_ anything. And that, on some level, he was just killing time in the same way that he killed enemies.

A blue bolt sizzled past Jason's visor so close that he could almost taste it, and he knew he was getting careless again as he fell back around the corner. He primed and hurled a fragmentation grenade around the corner to get things started, and as it erupted burst forth from around the corner. Bolting for cover in the form of an overturned couch, he began firing off rounds from his shotgun. He managed to put down two Elites before sliding into cover. The others rushed for cover in the chaos, finding themselves in a large, open lobby littered with Covenant and cover. He could hear their shouts around him, the whirlwind of the skirmish.

He peered around his cover and lucked out. Spotting an Elite making from one bit of overturned furniture to the next, he raised his shotgun and caught the bastard in the leg. Overloading its shield was enough to allow one of the others to put a three-round burst through its skull, sending it sprawling to the floor. Working fast, using his advantage, Jason hurled his last grenade to the corpse, then proceeded to duck and cover.

When his frag went up, it took the quartet of plasma grenades the Elite had had on it with it. For a few seconds, there was nothing but the bright, blue-white light of plasma and the screams of dying Covenant. When the dust settled, it was easy for Jason and his crew to pick off the survivors, who were all too disoriented to defend themselves. Once the gunfire ceased, the team pressed on, hurrying across the lobby to the corridor beyond.

The office building was a complex maze of corridors and office rooms, inter-cut with the occasional lobby or stairwell. The white walls and blue carpets all began to run together, the only thing keeping Jason on point and focused was that little nav marker. He found it, occasionally, almost ridiculous how much he'd come to rely on his suit, on his technology. What would he ever do if he lost it all?

The group killed their way through a dozen smaller squads of enemies, typically an Elite or two leading a contingent of Jackals and Grunts. Jason thanked God that he hadn't run into any Hunters yet. He hoped it would stay that way. When the nav counter dipped just below ten meters, Jason felt a sense of subtle relief creeping into his psyche. Another objective almost completed. Behind him, the others were sweaty and exhausted, their armor caked in blood and soot. But their stances were sure, their eyes grimly determined.

The final location was inside a small room hidden amongst the offices and hallways that housed a central cooling unit for all of the equipment. A major support strut was also held within. The ODSTs watched the door while the Marines planted the square, yellow brick of explosive. Seconds ticked by in quiet apprehension.

"Done," White reported quietly, jarring Jason from his silent vigilance. Echoes of combat could be heard from deeper within the structure. Jason activated his comms unit.

"Sergeant, objective completed," he reported tightly.

_"__Good to hear, DuPree." _Billings sounded tired, but determined. There was no longer the sound of combat. _"We've managed to get the lobby cleaned up, bastards ran. Get to Rally Point Alpha asap. Once we're all there, we'll hit the go button. You'll want to get out fast, it sounds like the Covenant in the upper parts of the building are finally coming down to investigate." _Jason felt his gut go cold, from what he could tell, there were a _lot_ of Covenant up there.

"We're oscar mike."

He cut the link and led the others out of the cooling room as another nav marker appeared. This one was over half a klik away. It was going to be another hard slog. Jason was tired and his head was still aching. He'd been able to push the pain aside so far, but as he hurried out of the office building, leading the others, he found the pain seeping back into his awareness. And his left eye was going a little red in vision now. It was worrying him. But that didn't matter now, he could walk and he could fight, and that was going to have to be enough.

They had almost made it back to the lobby when a blue beam appeared out of nowhere and put a hole clean through White's head. Jason felt as much as heard a counter-bullet shriek past his ear as Paulson snapped his own shot off. Up ahead, on a balcony overlooking the lobby area, Jason spotted a plume of bright purple blood.

"Shit," he whispered after making sure there were no others.

He cast a glance back at the Marine who, only seconds ago, had been completely full of life. Sometimes it still really struck him how goddamned _easy_ it was to die. It was more than a little unnerving. Jason ruthlessly shoved his emotions and fears aside, leading the others through the now empty, corpse-stricken lobby. As he stepped outside, he found the familiar ashes falling like snow. Only now the sky was darker than ever, and thunder rumbled in the distance.

The storm was closer.

Jason caught sight of the others rushing away from the building, making their way down the street. They were having a running battle with a group of Elites, who were the ones that were running. Jason furrowed his brow in confusion. He hadn't seen Elites do the running since...well, he wasn't sure if he had _ever_ seen it.

As he broke into a dead run with the others, fear settled into his stomach like a solid stone. He heard the sound of Phantom Dropships. Lots of them. He began to make for cover as the shadows fell over the street, only to realize that the Phantoms seemed to have no interest in him or his group of survivors.

"What the hell are they doing?" Hunter growled, staring up as the Phantoms made straight for the top of the office building. Jason's eyes widened.

"They've figured out our plan! They're evacing it! We've got to blow it, now!" he replied, turning and breaking into a dead sprint. He brought up his comms link.

"Sergeant Billings! The Covenant are evacing the office building! You've got to blow it now!"

_"__We're danger close, DuPree! You wouldn't survive!" _Billings roared in response.

"Three ODSTs and a Marine are nothing against half a battalion of Covies! Blow it!"

_"__God speed,"_ Billings replied quietly.

"Into the alleyway!" Jason cried, breaking for a dark, narrow alley between a pair of department stores.

He'd made it halfway down when the explosions began to tear the earth apart around him, and something heavy slammed into the back of his helmet so hard that it knocked the consciousness right out of him.


	7. Part I: Change of Plans

**Chapter 07  
><strong>_-Change of Plans-_

"Lindsay, Jesus Christ, turn that shit _down_!"

It was four in the morning, for crying out loud, and already the hangover was _killing _him. Jason groaned and rolled over, pulling the blankets back. No, he tried to. But there were no blankets. In fact, wherever he was laying, it was really goddamned uncomfortable. Had he fallen out of bed again? And it was really hard to move...

"Lindsay?" he called, opening his eyes. His heart jerked in panic. There was nothing to see. "Lindsay!?" This time he shouted and didn't care if he woke the damn neighbors.

"He's over here."

The voice was distant but familiar somehow. Jason jerked once more, his brain finally recognizing the awful truth: he couldn't move. He felt as if he were under a ton of rocks.

"DuPree!?" the familiar voice called again.

It jolted his memories and he knew, suddenly, that he wasn't in bed in his apartment. And that he would never see Lindsay again. The thought, as if it were a fresh revelation, tore at his soul in a way it had not in years. Suddenly, he could feel the weight beginning to lessen.

"Hurry up, get him out from under there!" Billings barked. Gray light suddenly blinded him and he stared up at several familiar faces through a very cracked faceplate.

"Damn man, your helmet...it's gonna have to go," Paulson said regretfully. Billings glanced back over his shoulder.

"Hunter's is intact. Someone get it off of him," he reported. Jason coughed raggedly.

"H-Hunter didn't make it?" Paulson shook his head sadly.

"No. Jones didn't make it either. Far as I can tell, it's just us Helljumpers now. And not many," he replied grimly. But the weight of those deaths didn't hold nearly as much gravity as hers. She was never far from his mind but...

"Who's Lindsay?" Paulson asked as he continued clearing the rubble off with Billings.

Jason opened his mouth, then closed it, afraid of what he might say. Paulson began to ask again, but Billings cleared his throat sharply. When Paulson looked up at him, he frowned, sharply shaking his head. Paulson considered this, then went about silently taking the rubble off. Billings filled in the silence with gruff talk of the mission.

"You've been out for about half an hour now, DuPree. We thought you were dead. Squad's down to half strength and all the Marines were killed in the fighting. We can't get into contact with Command and, for some reason, the Covenant are pulling out of the city. We haven't caught whiff of them since the detonation."

Jason felt a pang of fear stab at his heart, briefly overriding the tragedy coursing through his veins. The Covenant never retreated, not unless...

"They're going to glass the city."

"That had occurred to us. We're going to head for higher ground to get above whatever shit is clogging the channels. There's an apartment building not far from here. We can use its roof for contact. We'll make a brief connection to command, figure out what's going on and then probably haul ass to a pickup zone."

By the time Billings stopped talking, they had the rubble cleared off of him. Jason was pulled slowly to his feet. One of the other ODSTs came up with a helmet. It was covered in dust, but otherwise looked functional. Jason felt strange, taking it. He took off his helmet and notice Billings's and Paulson's eyes widen a few centimeters.

"DuPree..." Billings murmured.

"What?" Jason asked nervously.

"You're crying...blood. At least out of your right eye," Paulson murmured quietly. Jason rubbed his eye, his glove came back bloody.

"Shit," he whispered. At that moment, the world seemed to shudder and his equilibrium shifted. He stumbled and the others caught him.

"You gonna make it, DuPree?" Billings asked quietly.

"I'll be fine," Jason replied, shrugging their hands off and forcing himself to stand up straight.

He swapped out data-chips so that Hunter's helmet would register as his own, then pulled the helmet on and secured it. He led the way out, pushing past Billings and Paulson. He spotted Hunter's broken corpse not far away, near the mouth of the alley. He knelt and grabbed his dogtags, breaking one off and slipping into the pocket that now had a small collection of them. Silently, he made his way out of the alley, towards the collection of Helljumpers gathered in the street beyond.

Jason stared at his brethren, a collection of bleak, ashen, bloodied men in black armor. All of their faces were hidden behind visors, but he had no doubt that they were grim and determined. Billings began to lead them down the street, to the right side. They made their way wordlessly through the ruined city.

All at once, Jason's efforts felt in vain. It didn't matter that they had just demolished a whole building full of Covenant, taking out maybe three to five hundred of them. Sure, that was a lot, but the effort was supposed to have been just part one of retaking the city. But now, as Jason heard the low hum of a massive Covenant cruiser on approach, he knew that there _would_be no retaking of the city. New Haven was lost.

"Hey, you okay?" Paulson asked quietly, falling in step with Jason.

"I'll live," he replied simply, not trusting his voice to remain steady. Memories of _her_, now being pushed back down, still sent tremors of emotion through his psyche.

"Don't worry about it, man. We'll get a pickup and take the fight back to the Covies. One way or the other, we'll own this planet again," Paulson said with grim certainty. Jason tried to manage a smile, but his heart wasn't in it. Somewhere, in the back of his soul, battered and beaten black and blue, he was losing hope.

"Maybe."

"Aw, come on. We've seen crazier things happen. Bigger battles with even more unlikely odds have been won," Paulson pressed on, determined to cheer his friend up.

"Usually with Spartans," Jason replied. To this, Paulson didn't have anything to say. Almost all of the Spartans were dead now. Humanity's last real hope.

The pair of ODSTs shared no more words as they made a final approach through the gray mist of ash on the apartment building. It was shot to shit, but the basic structure was still intact. A small contingent of the group remained in the lobby, on the ground floor, as guards. Everyone else hustled up the stairwell until they'd reached the roof.

A door at the very top of the stairwell admitted them to an ash-stricken roof that had been tagged by plasma fire. It had punched holes through the top, but had spared the building from fire. Xander, the radioman of the group, set about establishing a link with Command while the others spread out along the rooftop, heading for the edges and looking for Covenant to pick off from a distance. Jason walked to the eastern edge and stared out across the vast, burning metropolis that had once been New Haven.

He could see no ground troops anymore and the last of the Phantom dropships seemed to be disappearing over the horizon. The only thing he could see was the titanic, ominous purple bulk of the Covenant cruiser making a slow burn towards the city. And, very distantly, he could see hints of a second and third.

Jason knew they didn't have much time. Idly, he wondered if he would die here, forsaken on a funeral pyre of a world. The thought bothered him less than it used to. In the beginning, he'd spent enough time being afraid of death as the next guy. Especially after watching dozens of his comrades get mowed down in particularly brutal skirmishes. He'd tried to keep a lid on his fear, telling himself it didn't matter, just so long as he took as many of the bastards down with him as he could before he died. Just so long as he went down swinging.

But that had begun to fade, replaced by the elation of survival after each battle. And _that_ had transformed into haunting survivor's guilt. Why was _he_ still alive when there were clearly more skilled, more experienced and more qualified soldiers with more to live for dying all around him? But even that had faded into obscurity, swallowed by the yawning maw of apathy that his soul was quickly becoming.

As each one of his comrades fell around him, he felt his mind fracture just a little bit more. Jason felt that it might be building up to something, that he might just lose it one day and eat a bullet, but he wasn't sure.

"Gather round!" Billings called suddenly. He'd had his chat with Command. He didn't look happy. "Got some bad news, boys. Command's ordered an official pull out. We're heading away from new Haven. They've got a dropship in a PZ at the edge of town. Two kliks. We make it there, we're home free. We've got half an hour. Let's move."

The time limit was absurd, Jason was almost positive they weren't going to make it. But, despite that, despite his apathy, some part of him still wanted to try. And succeed. It was that part of him that sent him racing down the stairwell with the others and bursting out through the front doors, onto the ruined street choked with derelict vehicles.

Jason ran, maybe not as fast as he ever had in his life, but he was certain it would make the top ten. For twenty minutes it was nothing but a group of Helljumpers running full tilt down the forsaken streets of the city. The silence was eerie. So was the fact that they seemed to be the only living beings left in the whole of the city.

The run to the PZ was a brutal slog, but they made it. With something like a minute left on their chronometers and a trio of Covenant cruisers menacing the skies, they made it to the last Pelican. Jason pounded up the ramp, turning on his heel and covering the others even though he knew no one would be following them. Once the last of the surviving dozen Helljumpers were up the ramp and it began to close, he collapsed into one of the seats.

"Where are we going?" Billings asked.

_"__There's a rally point fifty miles north of here where the remainder of our forces are converging,"_ the pilot replied. He sounded exhausted. Jason wanted to ask about the likelihood of taking the planet back, of how many causalities there were so far, but he didn't. He felt drained of energy, exhausted.

Instead, he sat back and reached into the pocket containing the dogtags of the dead. He began running his fingers through them, mourning those who had fallen.


	8. Part I: Entering Desolation

**Chapter 08  
><strong>_-Entering Desolation-_

The world was bloody, and shifting. Jason's head hurt like nothing before, as if it had been subjected to its own, private space in Hell. The rest of his body wasn't fairing too well either. Someone was pulling him, tugging him unceremoniously by his armpits. For a second, he had no idea where he was. All he could see, ahead of him, was a burning Pelican dropship. And several unmoving forms, bodies, he realized, cast in black armor. They were spread out along the back, as if they had been ejected from an opening in the back.

The memories came back to Jason once more, and his first thought was that he was being knocked unconscious too many times. This was getting ugly. His left leg throbbed in pain and he wondered if it had been sprained. Jason blinked several times, trying to clear his eyes of blood, until he realized that, at least _this_ time, it wasn't his eyes that were bloody, but his visor. Suddenly, the person carrying him stopped and let go.

Jason grunted in pain as his head hit the ground.

"You're awake," Paulson said. "Sorry about that." His voice sounded very weak. Jason heard him collapse to the ground. Slowly, painfully, he sat up and turned to face his friend.

"W-what happened?" he groaned, finding his voice. His mouth tasted of blood. Jason tried to wipe the stuff of his visor, and found that only some of it was on the outside. Paulson laughed, it was a very short, very bitter sound.

"Malfunction," he said grimly. "Goddamned malfunction, sent us crashing into the earth. Bad, bad crash. We were in bad enough shape as it was...we're the only one's left. Billings, Xander, they're all dead. We're all that's left of the ODST Division of the Twenty Sixth Marine Expeditionary Force," Paulson explained with bitter humor. He managed a dark grin. "Just you and me, bro...here."

Paulson reached up and tore off one of his dogtags. He tossed it to Jason, who caught it automatically, reflexes still good despite his banged up disposition. He offered Paulson a confused look.

"I'm not going to make it," he said breathlessly. "Something tore inside me, something big. Think I punctured a lung, ruptured my kidneys, too. It's bad, man. Just...make sure..." Jason waited for Paulson to say something else, until, suddenly, he realized that the ODST wasn't ever going to say anything for the rest of time.

He was dead.

Jason looked down at the dogtag in his hand. He stared at it for a few seconds, then slowly pushed it into the compartment containing the others. He sat there for a few moments in mute contemplation, staring over Paulson's inert body at the distant haze that had once been New Haven. The entire city was now alight in brilliant hues of azure, deep crimson and burning white. A trio of Covenant cruisers hovered overhead, wreathed in pillars of obsidian smoke, choked with the ashes of the dead.

"Why?" Jason asked the vast desolation surrounding him.

Why should he go on? Why bother? He reached up and took off his helmet, tossing the ruined, bloodied thing aside. Some of the world he was still seeing through a bloody film. He rubbed absently at his eye. Why should he bother to stand up, to call for help, to keep going?

Jason sighed heavily. Because, in the end, he was skilled enough to kill. And, if Humanity was ever going to survive, well, they needed every skilled soldier they could muster. And he was still one of those. And he was still alive. If only just. With slow, painstaking trepidation, Jason lurched to his feet. He limped over to the ruined Pelican, idly wondering how long he had before the Covenant decided to check for survivors. Or if they would even bother. Carefully, the ODST knelt by each of the bodies. By the time he reached the smashed cockpit, he had upwards of thirty dog tags. His entire unit, the pilot's and a few of the Marines that had been collected by the others along the way. They took up two compartments, and weighed heavily on his soul.

Jason felt like the Grim Reaper. He thought, morosely, that the term fit him. _He_ survived when everyone else hadn't. It was a situation he was painfully familiar with. And why? _Why_ was he still alive when there were faster, stronger and smarter people out there who were nothing but dead, dead, _dead_? Jason felt a cold ball of anger forming in his gut, and had to fight the urge to pull out his pistol, put it to his temple and squeezed the trigger.

He didn't _deserve_ to be alive.

Attempting to put that intensity to good use, Jason focused on trying to get into contact with Command. But the radio in the cockpit was ruined, and as he began searching for helmets that might be of any use, he seriously began to wonder just _how_ he had survived. Almost all of them were broken in one way or the other.

He finally took Paulson's helmet off, closed his eyes and secured it to his suit. The radio worked.

"Command..." His view swung briefly and he dropped to one knee, attempting to steady himself. He felt something leaking down his cheek and ignored the bloody tears. "Command, this is PFC DuPree of the Twenty Sixth, ODST Division. Our Pelican crashed due to mechanical malfunction...I'm the only survivor." While he spoke, again he stared at the burning ruins of New Haven. A strong, acrid wind blew out, giving the area around him a look of crimson haze.

_"__Roger that, DuPree. Ah..." _There was a pause. _"We've got one last PZ for you. It's on the far side of the mountain north of you. I'm sending you a nav marker. The Pelican will be there in an hour,"_ the voice on the other end responded.

"Thanks," was all Jason could manage.

He stared limping, following the magical nav marker that would lead him to salvation. He hoped. Minutes passed in morbid solitude, the only sound being that of Jason's labored breathing and the shrieking of the hot winds. He kept his ears open for the sounds of bad guys, but his combat senses weren't talking to him. They were content to kick back and keep one eye open.

The ground began to gently slope. Jason figured that the thing ahead of him was less of a mountain and more of a big hill. It made the going tougher, but Jason kept moving. Part of him still refused to lay down and die, even if it would be easier. Much easier. His leg was screaming in pain, his skull felt as if it had been cracked open and his ribs were bruised to the point that he was worried he might have broken one of them.

Something ahead of him helped to push the pain aside. It was a pillar of dark smoke. Something had crashed nearby. Pressing his pained leg on further, Jason hurried his limp. A few moments later he came across a derelict, ruined Pelican. It looked as it had seen some heavy combat but...

"No plasma burns," Jason murmured quietly.

He stared at the holes in the side and burn marks on one of the engines...and then his eyes widened. It was a human ship that had done this. Had the Covenant commandeered a Pelican? He couldn't imagine that happening. Most Covenant even capable of flying Pelicans or Longswords would rather spit on their hulls than pilot them.

"Who the hell is there?!" a voice, not so distant, called.

Jason hurried past the ruined Pelican, cresting a small ridge and found an ODST on a relatively flat piece of ground. He was leaned up against a rock, hands clutching his stomach. He didn't have a gun, but a small piece of equipment lay on the ground next to him. He began to reach for it.

"Have you finally caught up to me, you smug bastard?" he asked. Jason hesitated.

"What?" he managed. The ODST hesitated, then flipped up his visor. His eyes were gray, his face hardened, several wrinkles collected around the corners of his eyes and mouth. A little bit of blood leaked from between his lips.

"Who are you?"

"PFC Jason DuPree...I was with the Twenty Sixth."

"What happened to you?"

"Long story short...my unit died fighting in New Haven. I'm all that's left. It's getting glassed and I don't know how long it'll be 'til they find me. There's a PZ about half a klik from here. On the other side of the hill. Come on, I'll help you up," Jason said, making for the ODST. But the older man waved him off casually.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm done for, but..." A wave of desperation, of sudden revelation, flickered through his eyes. "Hey, kid...I've got to tell you something. I _need_ to. Look, I'm dying. It's obvious, but I've been killing in the name for quite a long time now...I've got some things I need to say. Otherwise they die with me." Jason glanced over his shoulder anxiously.

"Couldn't we walk and talk?"

"No." The word was so firm and final that Jason found he couldn't ignore it. Then he saw the guy's rank: Sergeant Major. He finally dropped to one knee, so that he was level with the man on the ground, and listened. He took off his helmet.

"My name is Gage Yevgenny. I was born to a family of farmers on Harvest forty six years ago. I spent the first eighteen years of my life _hating_ it. I couldn't stand my father, his farm or the endless chores. The hour I turned eighteen, I signed up with the colonial militia with big hopes and bigger dreams. I made some good, good friends there. A girl named Felicia and a man named Eric. We started running easy jobs on Eridanus II. Simple stuff, you know? Checking rebel activity, protecting supply transports, guard duty...on the weekends we partied like rock stars...heh." Gage fell silent for a second, eyes lost in the past.

"Well, that didn't last too long. That part of my life ended in an explosion. Some terrorist rebel asshole planted a bomb at the night club we happened to be at one night. Eric landed in a coma, me and Felicia in the hospital, banged up pretty damn bad. We were pulled from the rubble by a group of ODSTs who happened to be nearby...real soldiers, they were-" Gage suddenly broke into a coughing fit, putting a fist to his mouth. It came away bloody. Jason began to reach for his medpak, but Gage just waved him off.

"I'm dying, that's final, PFC. Now, listen. When I was recovering in the hospital, I could think of nothing else than those ODSTs. As soon as I was able, I joined. Felicia came with me...guess she had nothing better going on with her life. We kicked our way through training, and had just graduated, actually, when word came that Harvest was gone...the Covenant had glassed it. First time I'd heard of the bastards.

"I took it pretty well, I'd never liked that dirtball. But Felicia...she screamed at me. Told me I was an unfeeling asshole because I didn't care that our homeworld was _gone_. People just react differently to tragedy, I think. I tried to patch it up with her, I had a thing for her but...she ended up getting transferred and I lost track. I spent years killing the Covenant, but eventually I stopped making friends. Got sick of seem 'em die on me. I rose through the ranks, killed dozens, hundreds, thousands of the bastards without really caring." Jason, staring at the dying, middle-aged ODST, suddenly saw an eerie reflection of himself, or maybe he was being offered a gaze into the future. Was this to be his destiny?

"Finally, something kind of kicked about five years ago. I was at Skopje, me and my unit were getting pounded hard. And then, out of nowhere, this _big_ soldier in gray-green armor came down on the Covenant hitting us like the Grim Reaper himself. This huge soldier just tore through the alien bastards like they were _nothing_.

"He led us to an old castle being used as a command POST and I finally found out that this guy was a Spartan. First time I'd ever seen or heard of one. I have to admit, that Spartan might have saved me in more ways than one. When I looked at this walking, metal, killing machine...I got scared. We ODSTs were no longer top of the food chain...then I got pissed. I had gotten so used to being top dog, to being feared and respected by every regular puke in green armor...let's just say I was motivated to stop surviving and doing my job and _really_ kick ass. That, and...well, I found Felicia again, there in that old castle." A smile, a genuine smile, briefly cross his face.

"We caught up...she said sorry for all her harsh words years ago. But I deserved them. Back then, I _was_ a heartless bastard. She was a Colonel with some pull by then, so she had me reassigned to her ship. What's better, my old bud, Eric, had come out of his coma and become a pilot. It was just like old times. And sure, we spent the next few years running a lot as planet after planet fell to the all-consuming Covenant war machine...but at least I had my friends. Kid..." He looked directly at Jason then, his eyes intense and focused. "_Never _stop making friends. _Never_ abandon your friends," he said with a final and absolute conviction. Jason could only nod. Satisfied, Gage continued.

"Well...to make a long, long story a little shorter, we ended up here. My orders were to recover some Covenant artifacts. That's why they're here. Had to get 'em from that city over there, the one you came from. Mount Haven...or New Haven...whatever it's called..." He fell silent for a second, his face turning sour. During the course of the tale, Jason became slowly but surely certain that he could hear a low rumbling sound. It was getting louder.

"We were searching a bank, following a lead. Reports had it that someone might have gotten one of these 'artifacts' to the bank vault. It was a bad lead but...what we found turned my stomach. A group of ODSTs, well...they were stealing gold from the bank vault. And what's _worse_ was that they filled up their only two Pelicans with the gold, and there were a group of goddamned kids in the vault, hiding. They flat out lied to the kids, told them they'd come back for them, that the gold was for the war effort...they weren't coming back.

"Me and Felicia, we tried to stop them. What'd we get for our troubles? I got gut shot, she got killed...died in my arms. The rogue ODSTs ran...I rushed outside after them. I wanted blood. Eric was there with his Pelican, he was getting scared. The Covenant were coming in. He told me they had found the artifacts and he was getting ready to pick them up. I lost it. I knocked him out, dragged his ass outta that Pelican and stole it. I picked up the artifacts, as well as a Shiva Nuke. Lured the Covenant out here, as well as the rogues ODSTs...they were the ones that shot me down. Lucky that nuke didn't kick off when I crashed." Gage laughed bitterly, and Jason felt a cold ball of icy fear settled into his gut. That rumbling noise...he now realized it was the sound of dozens, if not _hundreds_ of Phantoms and Banshees.

"Don't worry kid, you'll get out. As soon as they get here, I'm gonna set off the nuke. Take them _all_ out. Here..." Gage reached into his pocket and fished out a dogtag, he then tore his own off and tossed them to Jason. He caught them and stuffed them into his pocket with the other.

"Get outta here, kid. Get to that PZ. I'll hold off for as long as I can. And remember me. Remember us. Remember what happened here. Someone should," Gage said bitterly, he stuck out his hand. Jason grabbed it, gripped it tight and slapped the back of it with his other hand. He nodded tightly to the veteran ODST, staring into the maw of death, and couldn't think of anything to say other than,

"Godspeed."

He ditched most of his gear and ran for all he was worth. As far as Jason could tell, it was the quickest half a klik he'd ever covered on uneven terrain. When he saw that Pelican, sitting there, the back ramp open and a single ODST standing there, smoking a cigarette and looking grim, he flat out bolted the rest of the way there.

"Take off, now! Shiva Nuke! Any second now!" Jason shouted breathlessly.

It was all the pilot nodded and he took off so fast that Jason nearly fell out of the back of the Pelican. The other ODST grabbed him and managed to shove him down into one of the seats. While Jason caught his breath, the other man, who identified himself as Sergeant Miller, updated him on the situation.

"We're abandoning New Jerusalem," he said quietly. "With Reach glassed, everyone is falling back to Earth. This was really a last call trip. You're lucky."

Jason didn't have much to say. Instead, he just looked out of the windows and squinted as the Shiva Nuke detonated, consuming no doubt hundreds of Covenant in search of their precious artifacts...and a couple of ODSTs gone rotten.

He stared at the mushroom cloud and held out very little hope for his future.

And he remembered Gage Yevgenny.


	9. Part II: Obsidian Skies

_**Part Two: ODST**_

**Chapter 09  
><strong>_-Obsidian Skies-_

Pain, something he was intensely familiar with, ate at his soul with a fresh vigor. It was the thing that tore him from unconsciousness and shoved him, very firmly, back into the land of the living. His first inclination of awareness was a splitting headache and the taste of blood in his mouth. Jason groaned, or tried to. The only thing his dry throat could produce was an awkward croak. For the moment, he merely laid there, wherever he was, and tried to focus on getting the pain under control. It was a useful trick that he'd come close to mastering.

The first real tidbit of information that Jason perceived was that he wasn't lying down, he was...hanging, somehow. Hanging against straps, against gravity. That set off some kind of warning in his head and forced his eyes open. His vision was incredibly blurred, but cleared quickly enough to show him a view he didn't want to see: he was inside of a ruined orbital drop pod, the front windows cracked, hanging over a darkened city street.

Jason began to look around the pod for reassurances. There were none to be had. The interior was black, the only light offered was that of a pair of broken screens, cracked and turned to static. He tapped a few commands in the keypad at his hand, but nothing happened. Real panic, cutting through the raw haze of confusion, began to set in.

Jason had no idea where he was.

The city spread out below him, the pod, none of it looked familiar. The last thing he remembered...the last thing he remembered was New Jerusalem. A burning city. Lots of dead friends. Gage Yevgenny. And...he remembered a ship. He'd boarded the _Say My Name_ and gone to Earth. Jason scoffed even as the memory unfolded: two weeks of boring nothingness, waiting for his body to put itself back together aboard the ship with the stupidest name in the fleet. And then another two weeks of nothing, hanging around in high Earth orbit, waiting for something to happen.

Jason strained against his own memories as everything faded after that. He remembered..._something_ happening. But as to what, well...looking around the city, Jason could guess that the worst had happened. Earth had been invaded. Jason decided to take stock of the situation. He was nothing if not a survivor.

They'd give him, (whoever they might have been), a silenced arsenal. An SMG and pistol were locked, loaded and ready to go with some clips to spare. No grenades, but that seemed counter-intuitive of the silenced approach. Jason started to look for other things when a low rumbling began to vibrate through his pod. He realized at once what it was: a Phantom. Jason froze, even though it wouldn't do any good, if he was discovered he was a sitting duck in this tin can. The Phantom appeared overhead, drifting lazily by overhead.

It didn't deviate or alter its course, eventually disappearing from sight behind a large obsidian skyscraper, wreathed in flickering lights and smoke. Jason let out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding.

"Okay...I've got to get out of here," he whispered to himself.

He popped the canopy of the pod, sending it crashing to the street below and wincing in anticipation at all the noise it made, smashing into the roof of an abandoned car. When nothing came, Jason stopped pointing his gun down and let it hang by its sling. He stared down at the good fifteen foot drop, reminded himself that his armor was meant to handle drops like this and held his breath. Jason hit the release on the straps and spent a second or two sailing through the air before slamming into the ground. He landed with a grunt and a _thud_, his armor indeed absorbing the majority of the impact. But it still sent lances of pain up and down his already sore legs.

Okay, okay...what to do next? Jason looked around, reassuring himself that he was alone. Once he confirmed that, a wave of pain made a slow burn through his skull, down to the base of his neck. He groaned and staggered, knowing he'd need some painkillers if he was going to do...whatever it was he needed to do. Jason began to feel for the medpak that was supposed to be attached to his belt. He didn't find it.

Slowly, with great trepidation, the ODST looked back up at his ruined pod, hanging above him. He could just make out the white tip of the medpak, still mounted inside the pod's interior.

"Shit."

His gaze fell back to street level and he looked around. Something snagged his eye and, moving low and fast, he traced it to its source. A medical station, complete with a few military-grade medical kits. Jason reached for one, relieved, and nearly shot the thing to pieces as a computerized voice happily stated,

_"__Fast, accurate diagnosis. Or your money back."_

Jason stared at a small screen, which now featured a circle with two more smaller circles inside of it. The thing kind of resembled a face. Jason turned away from it and made his way to a nearby dark corner where a pair of buildings met and the street lights had failed. As he crept into it, moving backwards, he remembered the long unused VISR function of his suit.

Flicking it on, the world became a gridwork of angular neon lines. Everything seemed to be painted in smooth, holographic light now. Jason always marveled at the VISR function, though he rarely got to use it in combat. During training or in between missions, his higher ups had advised him and the others to practice using the VISR whenever possible, to help acclimate to it should they suddenly need it. As a result, whenever he was on a planet, Jason often took walks at night in his suit, studying the environment in brilliant neon.

Working fast, Jason injected himself with a painkiller and then checked his body over for severe wounds. In the end, he found that some of his bones might be stressed, and he should probably get his head looked at, but he could make it. Jason sighed, too many head injuries lately. At this rate, he was going to wind up crazy or something.

Jason stayed in his dark corner, letting the painkillers go to work, and assessed his situation. He had two directions to go. One way didn't look much more appealing than the other, both were just lengths of street, littered with the debris of a city gone to hell. He finally decided he couldn't just stand there and broke left.

He worked his way down an inclined street, taking it nice and easy while hugging the dark wall of the nearest building. He hid in its shadows, keeping his eyes open. Despite the isolation and desolate nature of the city, his combat senses were whispering to him: nearby Covenant. Jason had made a habit of listening to his senses. Often, they, in conjunction with his reflexes, were the only thing that kept him alive.

It wasn't long before he ran into trouble. Jason stopped just short of the edge of the building as he heard the telltale sign of a nearby Grunt. Its heavy breathing and occasional rapid sniffs of the air gave it away. He peered cautiously around the corner. It stood with its back to him. Ahead, there were others: a Brute and two more Grunts. They were investigating something just a few meters away, their backs also turned.

Jason had been trained in stealth. He'd taken great pains to do so, even going so far as to spending two months with a man who's only name was Price, behind enemy lines. Their goal had been to basically raise hell in any method possible, from planting bombs to assassinating enemy leaders. He'd gotten damned good at it and came away from the experience with a lot more know-how in the art of stealth tactics.

Jason let his SMG hang by its sling and pulled out his pistol. He wrapped one arm around the Grunt's neck while putting the barrel of the pistol to the back of its head. Squeezing the trigger, he quickly pulled the body back around the corner and laid it carefully on the ground. Jason quickly holstered the pistol and appropriated the pair of plasma grenades the Grunt had on it. Spartans might be able to handle one or even three Brutes by themselves, but Jason knew his survival rate against even a single Brute dropped dramatically.

He primed the grenade and popped around the corner. Aiming carefully, but quickly, he hurled the ball as it burst into a brilliant blue-white glare that lit up the night. The Grunts began screaming as the grenade stuck to the Brute's back. Within seconds, the trio of them were lit up and reduced to nothing but free floating ash.

Jason waited, his breath held, SMG clenched tightly in his fists. But no one else came. As he let out his breath and began to walk slowly into the open area, Jason became aware of something he should have noticed right away: it was raining. A soft rainfall saturated the cityscape and seemed to make the neon of his night sight shimmer even more. For a few seconds, Jason surveyed the area. Everything was glossy and gossamer, the world broken down to angles and planes. Everything was sharpened and beautiful.

A harsh ringing cut through the air and made the ODST jump. He nearly squeezed off half a clip before getting himself under control. Instead of enemies, all he found was a phone that was, for some reason, lit up more than everything else. For a second, Jason was completely stymied, at a loss for why this was happening. Something finally clicked and he realized it probably had something to do with the programming in his helmet.

Around him, the rain fell in dreary solitude. Above were the stars, diamonds on a black velvet blanket. Figuring that he had nothing to lose, Jason slowly walked over to the payphone that was ringing. He hesitated, then touched the answer button. Abruptly, words began to flash across his visor, obscuring his vision.

[[_SUPERINTENDENT ONLINE...]]_

_AUTH: [DARE: V500D341(S1)]_

_SEC: [ -1A]_

_PASSWORD: [VERGIL]_

_CONNECTION ESTABLISHED!_

DOWNLOADING CITY MAP

"What the hell!?" Jason snapped harshly as a holographic, topographical map appeared in front of his vision.

He quickly deactivated it and glanced around again nervously, reaffirming that he was alone. What if he'd been in combat? That kind of stunt could have gotten him killed. Sighing, Jason retreated to another dark corner, lit only by a distantly burning vehicle, and reopened the map. After studying it for several minutes, Jason decided that it was nigh-incomprehensible. Whoever had designed the map obviously had had the right idea...they had just done a _terrible_ job executing it. He'd have to find his own way.

As he began to move back out into the square, studying the burning vehicles and bodies from both sides strewn about, his mind began working. He'd seen something in that transfer data...Jason thought over it for a second, then his eyes widened. Dare. That's what he'd seen. That name. Dare. The name triggered a flood of memories.

He remembered...a briefing. And other ODSTs. Someone named Captain Dare...from ONI? They'd been over Earth, and the Covenant had invaded. Jason grimaced, now remembering how thorough and brutal the assault had been, at least in space. For some reason, if he remembered correctly, they'd only gone to one location on the planet. Which was where he currently was: New Mombasa.

The memories were hazy, but there. He could remember some of the squad. And that gave him something to do. Activating his radio, Jason called out for help into the dark, lonely night.

"This is Lance Corporal DuPree-" Even as the words left his mouth, he instantly remembered that he _was_ a Lance Corporal. He'd finally gotten that promotion. Just took a whole lot of friends dying to get it. "-to Captain Buck or Captain Dare, is anyone there?"

Cold silence was all that awaited his ears, mocking in him bleak, sullen solitude. Jason sighed and tried once more.

"I repeat, this is Lance Corporal DuPree of the ODSTs, is _anyone_ receiving?" he asked, a little more desperately. The reply made him jump.

_"__I hear you, DuPree. This is Corporal Trent Temple."_

The voice on the other end sounded firm and reassuring. Jason relaxed slightly, and realized just how scared he was of facing this situation alone.

"Where are you, Corporal?"

_"__Just Temple, DuPree. And I'm not far from you...what happened to your pod?"_

"I...I'm not sure."

_"__What do you mean? Have you heard from Buck or the others?"_

"How do you know about Captain Buck?" Jason's brow knitted in confusion.

_"__...DuPree, are you okay?"_

"Who are you?"

_"__...I'm Corporal Temple. I was on the team with you. What's wrong? Did you hit your head?"_ Temple sounded concerned.

"I did...maybe we should meet up."

_"__Roger that. I see an apartment building not far from my current position. I'm going to give you a nav marker. Meet me there, and watch your back. There's a lot of Covenant."_

"Affirmative, DuPree out."

Beneath obsidian skies, feeling uncertain, Jason set out as soon as the nav marker appeared on his HUD.


	10. Part II: Deference For Darkness

**Chapter 10  
><strong>_-Deference For Darkness-_

The streets of New Mombasa were lonely and forsaken. Everything was made slick and smooth by the rain, painted in green neon by his helmet. Jason fought the urge to shiver as he progressed down the darkened street. Another patrol had found him, and he'd left a pile of corpses in his wake. If nothing else, Jason could remain certain that he was at least a very proficient killer. He was working his way up an incline, towards the nav marker.

He poured through what fragmented memories he had available to him, but couldn't remember Temple at all. He had a hazy recollection of the ship and the briefing. The clearest of all was Captain Dare, the ONI spook. Probably because she was the only woman there, and, well...it had been a long, long time.

Jason stopped, briefly, and stared up at a huge door blocking road. It informed him that it was closed, and he realized he'd have to find an alternate route. Something was blinking, nearby. Through the drizzle, he located an unlocked door next to a sign that read **Detour**, with an arrow pointing at the door. Jason frowned, considering the situation. If he didn't know any better, he would have suspected someone of helping him out.

The ODST turned and glanced out over the desolate cityscape he'd left behind. Nothing moved. No one was alive. Sighing, Jason went through the door. It led to what appeared to be small apartment complex. Furniture littered the area, toppled over and broken. Someone had scrawled in big black letters **Glass This** across the far wall. Jason chuckled darkly as he proceeded, navigating the blackened corridor.

His humor, though grim, quickly faded away with cold memories of his own encounter with the total destruction of glassing. And death. He thought about his squad on New Jerusalem. They'd spent months together. A long time when you considered the average lifespan nowadays and how often people got shuffled through the system. He'd gotten to know them as well as he had anyone else since joining the UNSC. And there was something more there, being an ODST meant more than being a Marine.

You had to be crazy to be one, and being among others as crazy as yourself was soothing in its own insane way. Now...Jason considered his current situation. Now he was alone in a necropolis of a city being lorded over by maniacal aliens who wanted nothing more than to exterminate him. He tightened his grip on the gun. He'd see them all dead, first.

As Jason came to another door, leading out of the apartment building, he froze. It slid open to reveal a courtyard of slumbering Grunts. A dark grin, full of malicious intent, spread across his face. They had all slunk away from their Brute overlords for a nap. Instead, they would find nothing but death.

Jason slipped silently across the courtyard, pistol in hand, and emptied the clip. He put a bullet into each of their brains. Across the area, he discovered another detour sign and another open door. This one led him to a room that had seen its share of combat. Brute, Grunt and Marine corpses littered the ground floor of the apartment complex in equal silence. Blood of all kinds was mixed in, staining the carpet, the walls and the ceiling.

This building held something more important, however. Jason glanced up. This is there the navigational marker was leading him. Jason gave a Brute corpse a swift kick to the head as he passed it, then made his way up a flickering stairwell. It led him to a corridor bathed in bright, phosphorescent blood. Someone had made the Covenant pay here, and Jason commended whoever that was. He hurried along, wanting to meet up with Temple and try to jog some of his memories. And get closer to finding the rest of his squad.

He'd already lost one, he didn't want to lose another. He wasn't sure if he could bear it.

There were a dozen doors per corridor, most of which remained close as he walked by. But as he approached, one of them opened. There were a pair of surprised squawks, the sound was accompanied by a brilliant blue flash that sizzled past his helmet. Jason turned and began firing even without the ability to see.

When his vision cleared, he had one empty SMG and two very dead Jackals. Jason let out a low, long sigh and pressed on with much more apprehension this time. After a long trek, he finally reached the top of the complex.

"Temple?" he asked, eying the man in black armor standing in the room beyond him. The ODST was staring at something: a smashed, flickering screen. He turned.

"DuPree."

His visor was up. The man who was Trent Temple had a face, Jason assumed at least, that women would find attractive. Very defined features, a dusting of dark facial hair, intense, blue eyes and what could almost be called a fashionable war scar that ran from beneath his left eye down to his chin.

"I was wondering if they had gotten to you, out there in the rainfall. Now...what do you remember?" Temple asked. The face, Jason realized, jogged a little bit of his memory.

"I remember the briefing, aboard the _Say My Name_." Temple nodded.

"Good, good. And do you remember the mission?" Jason struggle for several seconds before shaking his head.

"No," he admitted.

"That's also good. We never got around to it. Captain Dare refused to tell us what the hell was going on. We made the jump and everything was green...until the Prophet of Truth jumped to slipspace _inside_ the Earth's atmosphere."

Jason's eyes widened as he felt a rush of memories. The pod, the Covenant cruiser, the shock wave...that would help explain the state of epic desolation New Mombasa was in.

"How long have I been out?"

"Roughly six hours," Temple replied, he returned his attention to the flickering, shattered screen. Jason finally noticed what it was that was lodged firmly in the center of it. An ODST helmet. The name read **Dare**.

"Damn," Jason whispered.

"Yeah. Must've been an explosion." Temple turned and walked over to the window. It had been shattered and rainwater leaked in. Jason joined him as he stared down. Their eyes fell upon a ruined ODST pod.

"Dare's?" he asked. Temple nodded. They stared for another few seconds in silence before Temple sighed heavily and turned to face him.

"Now comes the hard part, DuPree."

"Which is?"

"We're going to have to split up if we're going to figure this out. I'm going to make for an ONI building, a local headquarters, across town. I'll get in, see if I can get some more information on our squad or what went down while we were passed out."

"And me?"

"Our squad is out there, somewhere. I need you to play detective, figure out where they are or what happened to them. And, obviously, play hell with the Covenant. Run some interference. I read up on you, DuPree. You've got damn high marks in stealth. I read you even trained with the man himself, Price. The man's a legend. Anyone that passes his test is okay in my book. I trust you." Jason felt strange at receiving the praise. He merely nodded.

"Now, let's split up. I suggest you start with the pod, then go out from there. I'll keep in touch."

Once more, Jason nodded, and made his way back into the rain and the darkness.


	11. Part II: Proceed With Caution

**Chapter 11  
><strong>_-Proceed With Caution-_

Getting down hadn't been that hard. He'd simply wound his way back through the building and worked around until he found a street that led him to the plaza that Dare's pod had crashed into. He found a descending stairwell that led to the drop site. No one was around. Distantly, another dropship rumbled. He ignored it for now, they seemed to be everywhere except for where he was. Jason stood atop the stairwell and stared around.

Rain saturated the area, the cityscape painted in neon green with his VISR. It felt forlorn and abandoned, forsaken by the others. What could have happened? His mind kept going back to that helmet. It had been pretty banged up. Dare was presumed dead. Part of the reason he was heading for her pod was to try and confirm it. Jason proceeded down the steps. He could easily imagine Buck making some sort of valiant effort to save her, fighting across the city after crashing to the ground. Killing his way through Brutes and Jackals and Grunts. Maybe even hooking up with a few survivors along the way. But there was no way to know...

Jason thought it would be a shame if Dare really was dead. He found himself at odds about her...in an attraction kind of way. The fact that she was an ONI spook sent shivers down his spine, but as for looks...despite the fact that her face was...unique, there was something definitely attractive there. Jason hesitated, why was he even thinking about this? She was probably dead, and even if she wasn't, she was an ONI spook, and even then, there had obviously been something between her and Buck. He wondered about that.

Jason reached the bottom of the steps and looked around. A few Grunt corpses littered the area, long cold. Slowly, he approached the pod. It was facing away from him, but he could already tell the front had been popped off, as it resided, twisted and burnt, a few feet away from the rest of the pod. Jason circled the pod, coming to the front. It was empty. No body. He frowned, then looked around. So maybe Dare had made it away. If so, then where was she? Where was the rest of the squad? Jason sighed and stepped forward.

He wondered how far Temple had made it. He looked to the pod for anything useful, but quickly realized that it wouldn't help him at all. He growled and kicked the side of it.

"What now?" he muttered, looking around.

Temple had assigned him to be a detective. Jason didn't feel much like one, more like just some idiot wandering around in the rain. Something flashed, not too far away. A sign in the center of the plaza, back towards the stairs. Jason hurried over to it. Another arrow, pointing back the way he had come. He was pretty sure this message was meant for him.

"Who are you?" he asked, and suddenly felt stupid.

Regardless, there was no response. Who knew? He sighed again and gripped his gun more tightly, then proceeded back up the stairwell. As he crested the top, he nearly had his head shot off as a bright bolt of plasma seared past his faceplate. Ducking low, snapping his gun up, he spotted a small contingent of Jackals and Grunts backing up a pair of Brutes.

Not good. How was he going to deal with this? They had the advantage. A hail of plasma bolts, intermittent with some spikes, raced towards him. They were coming from his left, he immediately sprinted for a wrecked police cruiser a few meters away and dove behind it. Plasma bolts pelted the hull, but it held. It was flashing its lights and sirens, screaming his position to the world. He dropped to his belly and leveled the pistol on the ground, gripping it two-handedly. He spotted a forest of legs heading his way.

Jason emptied the clip, causing the Grunts and Jackals to drop to the ground under the fire, at which point he quickly put a bullet between their eyes. He eliminated six enemies this way. The others marched on his position. He quickly reloaded and holstered the pistol. Jason was in the midst of pulling out his SMG when a plasma grenade, bright and deadly, landed next to him.

"Shit!" he screamed as he rolled away.

The blast picked him up and tossed him several meters down the road. Jason rolled to a stop, still clutching his SMG. He offered his response. Lurching to his feet, Jason activated and tossed two plasma grenades in quick succession. The first one went wide, he watch it burst into bright blue-white plasma as it arced and landed too far behind them. While they were attempting to avoid the first one, the second one nailed a Grunt in the face. It began screaming as the plasma melted its face, fusing with its mask.

A Brute rushed forward and attempted to kick the Grunt away. Foot never met butt. The Grunt exploded, as did its small cache of plasma grenades. This chain reaction vaporized the surviving members of the reconnaissance squad. Jason let out a long breath as cold silence returned. More blinking caught his attention. Ahead, beyond where the remains of the Covenant lay, there was a large doorway that blocked off the road.

It read **ROUTE OPEN** in large, flashing letters. A good sign. He hurried forward, trudging through the rain-slicked streets of New Mombasa. He activated the large gate when he arrived and jumped slightly as the loud sounds of its hydraulics working echoed through the cool, predawn air. As the gate ground open, he stared ahead. A complex of streets and structures awaited his inspection. He frowned, it looked difficult.

Jason hurried along, keeping low, moving with the flow of the city. He strained his ears against the rain, there could be an enemy around every corner. He hugged the edge of a building, working his way along its second story balcony. His path wrapped around towards the front entrance. Ahead was a larger plaza. Jason froze as he heard an irritated grunt.

"Hold the beast still!" a Brute growled from somewhere nearby. Clearly, they had not detected him yet. He stalked silently to the edge of his perched position and peered over the edge. A trio of Brutes were holding...something that hovered and attaching something to it.

"What the hell?" he whispered. He quickly grabbed a plasma grenade.

"There...now the charge is set to explode..." one of them growled approvingly.

Whatever it was began to hover away. Jason considered attacking it, but decided against it. He didn't know what it was. Instead, he primed his last plasma grenade and hurled it directly downwards. It attached to the lead Brute's head and exploded in brilliant display of plasma that sent the other two sprawling. One didn't rise, the other began to climb groggily to its feet. The thing's shields were down, so Jason hopped to the ground and leveled his pistol.

He squeezed the trigger twice, putting down the recovering Brute. Next, he turned his attention to the one that had apparently been knocked unconscious. As he approached, he leapt back in surprise as the Brute's shields suddenly returned and appeared to glow far more than usual.

"What the hell?" he whispered.

He glanced up. The only anomaly to the situation was that floating thing...what was it? It hovered silently overhead, as if watching the whole situation without a care in the world. Once again, he considered killing it. But it slowly began to hover away. When Jason returned his attention to the unconscious Brute, he realized that its overcharged shield had almost completely disappeared.

"What the hell?" he echoed himself.

Finally, he shrugged and pulled out his SMG. Quickly finishing off what shield had recharged, he put a few rounds into the thing's head and then kicked the body for good measure. Jason straightened back up and looked around. He couldn't but feel like a broken record as he asked himself yet again,

"Now what?"

As if to answer that question, a sudden whining sound could be heard from overhead. Jason snapped his SMG up in defense, certain that now this mysterious thing was ready to kill him. Instead, it merely hovered several dozen feet overhead. And it glowed. The whining noise intensified, rising to a terrible pitch until suddenly the thing _exploded_. Jason's jaw dropped as he watched several purple, glowing bits rain down from above, then explode themselves in quick succession. Luckily, none of these eruptions took place anywhere near him.

What the hell_was_ that thing? It had to be some new type of Covenant. Jason was pretty sure he'd seen it all, but...maybe not. He started walking, realizing that he had to if he was going to get anywhere. He wound his way through the streets, checking bodies as he went, and quickly realizing that his ammo situation wasn't going to get much better. Not unless he found another ODST corpse, or downgraded his arsenal.

Surrounded by rain and tall, decrepit structures, Jason climbed a small hill and reached an impasse. Or, to better describe the situation, a fork in the road. He stared left, then right. Choices, choices. On an impulse, he turned left and hurried along. He decided he was going in the right direction when he saw another flashing sign informing him to keep right. And then another positive, green-lit square of neon that said **Detour**.

He reached another gate and passed through it, then made his way past some burning vehicles. He didn't pause to check and see if there were any corpses inside. Not quite something he was prepared to look at, just now. Jason pressed on in looming silence, his gaze sweeping the area. As he descended into another area, something caught his gaze. A simple alleyway. He frowned. For some reason, he wanted to go back there.

Another quick sweep of the area told him he was alone for now. Jason hurried into the alley and followed it to its forsaken end past a large, static-stricken screen. As if to reward his curiosity, he found a locked door, **Remember Reach** scrawled on the wall in spray paint...and a dead Marine. Not just a simple, regular dead Marine. No. It appeared that this one had killed himself with his shotgun. He lay in a bloody corner, headless.

The sight disturbed Jason. He abruptly turned around and hurried paced back through the alley, back to the street. Why would anyone kill themselves? At this point in the war...every man was needed. Humanity was wearing thin. We couldn't afford to waste any lives...yet this man had felt the need to take his own life, despite what it would do to the greater good. Jason shuddered as he felt a stinging sense of empathy...and understanding. He jumped when he heard a hiss of hydraulics, coming from across the street.

Curiously, he approached the new opening as portions of a wall descended into the ground. He was apprehensive as he approached, as his last curiosity event had been punished severely. But as he spotted what was inside, a soft smile crept onto his face.

"I love Mongeese."


	12. Part II: These Darkened Streets

**Chapter 12  
><strong>_-These Darkened Streets-_

The interior of the small, garage-like structure was brilliantly lit. So much so that Jason had to quickly deactivate his VISR. He beheld a small treasure trove.

"This is beautiful," he whispered.

He slowly wandered into the garage and inspected the cache of supplies that awaited him. A pair of fresh, new Mongeese took up most of the room, but along the walls were weapons lockers. No ammo, but fully loaded guns. Jason spent the next few moments cannibalizing the magazines from the spare silenced SMGs and pistols that he found, adding them to his personal armory.

He decided to talk to Temple while he resupplied.

"So, Temple...who are you?"

_"__I'm heartbroken that you don't remember me, DuPree,"_ Temple replied with a dark laugh. _"But really? I'm not much. I grew up a farm boy out on Bishop Four, found my core in the Corps when I got sick of working farm equipment. Turns out I had a real knack for putting bullets in alien heads and telling people what to do. I worked my way up to Sergeant."_

"Why'd you join the ODSTs?" Jason asked, pausing and turning to stare out of the garage.

The rain continued to fall in wretched solitude, muting and numbing the world. Temple was silent for a few seconds, and, inexplicably, Jason had a flashed vision in his head. He could easily envision the lone Corporal crouched amongst the rain atop a broken building, staring out over a neon-saturated city of epic desolation and lonely isolation.

_"__I joined when my squad was ambushed on Kai Delta Prime. Covie bastards killed half my squad, captured the rest. We were tortured and interrogated for days behind enemy lines. I knew we were dead. We didn't know anything critical, and Command knew we didn't know anything critical. And we were expendable assets. We all knew that. One by one, my friends died slow and painful deaths. I was the last one...and I almost bit the bullet when the ODSTs came crashing in out of nowhere, kicked the door in to the Covenant outpost and blew everyone away. I was the only one they saved...and while I was recovering in the hospital, I swore that I'd get my revenge. I joined up with the Helljumpers because I knew I could do a better job doing it, and because there was nothing left for me in the Marines."_

Temple fell silent once more. Jason wasn't sure how to respond. Temple saved him the trouble.

_"__Aw, shit. Look DuPree, I've got to go silent for a little while. Covies everywhere. I'll get back in touch with you when I can. Good luck. Stay sharp."_

And he was gone. Jason returned his attention to his inventorying.

He managed to police up another few fragmentation grenades. Sadly, there was no heavy ordinance. No rocket launchers and no sniper rifles. But he'd make due. Jason realized that it didn't make any sense why there would be a random cache of supplies, seemingly meant for him. But at the same time he decided it didn't matter. Guns were guns and bullets were bullets. With that last thought, he hopped onto one of the Mongeese and started it up.

"Hell, _yes_!" he all but yelled when the engine kicked to life. From somewhere within the garage, he heard a mechanical voice state,

_"__Satisfaction guaranteed."_

He didn't let it bother him. Jason brought the Mongoose slowly out of the garage and into the street. Slowly, he made his way down it, winding between several burnt-out husks of wrecked vehicles. He made it to an intersection, and then discovered another gate that proudly proclaimed **Route Open** in bright, blinking letters. He drove up to it and hopped off the Mongoose. Quickly, he activated the gate and hopped back on.

As the gate opened, the sheer joy of simply having a Mongoose washed away in the face of the realization of the problems it would bring. Like facing down Covenant. The next area was practically overrun with a Covenant patrol. Jason immediately killed the engine and hopped off, ducking down low. He hadn't been spotted. Excellent. It meant he could begin his elimination procedures.

First things first. He spotted a Jackal on outer patrol to his left, strolling away from him along a raised alcove above the street. He hurried over it, slipped the pistol to the back of its head and squeezed the trigger. He gripped the body and let it down carefully to the ground. The shield extinguished and the Jackal died without noise. Jason slunk past a row of pay phones to the end of the platform where a pair of Covenant supply crates resided. He ducked down behind them and scoped out the competition littering the area beyond.

The intersection below was littered with Covenant. Some Grunt and Jackal pairs strolled about, a few Brutes stood on the street corners. One Grunt snoozed softly, leaned over the controls of a plasma turret. It was like a shooting gallery. The area he was in was dark, they'd probably never find him. If his luck held. Jason brought his pistol to bear, but as he did, gently knocked the supply crate. Something inside fell out and luckily landed against him. It was a long something. He grinned with the realization of what it was.

A Covenant Beam Rifle. He gently set it aside. It would be useful for the Brutes...which probably needed to be taken down first. Jason holstered his pistol and brought the awkward beam rifle to bear. He zeroed the sights on the first Brute's head, a lazy looking bastard that was absentmindedly half-dozing against the wall of a building. He squeezed the trigger. A bright blue pulse painted the area in brief illumination as a hole was burned straight the Brute's skull. Before the corpse even finished dropping, Jason had switched targets.

One more. He squeezed the trigger again as the Grunts began crying out, the Jackals began squawking. Another squeeze, another Brute fell. He abandoned the rifle for now, pulling out his pistol and zeroing the sights one more time. The survivors were firing randomly, they had vaguely picked up his position, but most of them had been asleep or not paying attention. He first capped the Grunt manning the turret, then worked his way through the survivors. Bullets flew and corpses fell. In the end, three of them ended up getting out of sight.

Jason growled and hopped down from the ledge. He stalked forward, reloading his pistol and bringing the sub-machine gun to bear. A pair of Grunts and a Jackal had attempted to form some sort of last stand. Jason put a few rounds through the Grunts' skulls and then peppered the Jackal's position with the remainder of the clip. He hurled a fragmentation grenade to its location, then shot it in the back of the head when it dove out of the way.

The explosion ruptured, echoing across the city. And again the silence found him. Jason turned and began walking back to his Mongoose. He kept his pace slow, staring up at the starlight and burning skyline. It was darkly beautiful. With measured movements, he reached up and took off his helmet. For the first time since landing on Earth, he caught a real whiff of fresh air. He could feel the breeze on his face, the rain on his face, cold and bitter. Jason reached his Mongoose and turned around, his gaze drifting across the city.

"Where are you guys?" he whispered.

Losing his squad on New Jerusalem had been heartbreaking. Being the sole survivor didn't help his guilt. On the way back to Earth, alone and restless in his cabin, it had threatened to take him, to drown him in his sleep. And maybe some of him had died there, on New Jerusalem. Died along with his friends, one more tragedy in his life...he sighed. While he hadn't really gotten to know his new squadron all that well, he still felt a strong connection to them. New friends, new allies. Maybe this squad would survive. But he was beginning to worry. At least he had Temple.

Jason shoved the thoughts aside and hopped onto the Mongoose. He needed to stay focused, otherwise he was already dead. He was aware that there was some sort of mental state that isolated soldiers got. Wander around long enough alone and you feel like you're the last one in existence. Kick-starting the ATV again, the ODST began to drive slowly through the ruined city streets. Some of the paths were blocked off by large Covenant shield technology. He ignored them and kept going, following the path that came easiest to him.

He realized that he _still_ didn't really have any idea where he was going. If only he could have raised someone on the comms besides Temple. He'd left his channel open, the general communications frequency, but he hadn't even heard a blip. Either everyone was gone, or everyone was dead. Or maybe the Covenant had some sort of jamming device. It didn't matter. He was alone out here, Temple somewhere else in the city, and he could only rely on himself.

As Jason continued, he soon found himself in another city square like area. He scouted the area, but there was nothing alive with him. He paused, and then hopped off the Mongoose, killing the engine. Might as well search the area. There could be anything out here...he began wandering around, searching in any area he felt might hold something useful, be it information or an arsenal or maybe even a survivor.

The place was desolate. Most of the light came from another huge shield, blocking a route somewhere deeper in the city. Dark, inert building surrounded him. Concrete tombs, silent testaments to the war that had ripped through the city's heart. Had either side won? The Covenant had pulled out, and left some of their own behind. Who had the upper hand here? The situation was so confused that Jason couldn't decide.

Maybe he could wipe the city clean. Kill _all_ of them. But he'd need access to more weapons, a security system and perhaps some help. It was a lofty goal, but next to finding his missing squad mates, Jason couldn't think of anything else to do. He sighed and continued his search. Something caught his eye as he approached it. It looked like one more random piece of debris among many, but for some reason, it stood out to him.

He knelt by it and studied it. It was the Fighter Optics of a Drone. Jason glanced up, into the rainy sky. These Drones had flown over the city. Maybe this one had seen something. He quickly knelt and picked up the piece of debris, studying it intensely. He flipped it over, looking for some sort of way to access its internal memory. After a few moments of careful inspection, he realized the thing was far too damaged to relay any information, if it even had any.

He let it drop. Jason let his imagination wander. Not too far away, he could see a Ghost, smashed into the side of a building. It looked as if it had picked up some fairly high velocity. He could easily picture one of his squad mates, Dutch maybe, smashing into some zoo or animal reserve. And killing his way across it, maybe linking up with surviving Marines. Hadn't that been where the cruiser had been grounded over?

Jason was pretty sure he remembered that in the briefing. Maybe Dutch had been there, trying to help secure it. Jason's eyes drifted back to the smashed Ghost, then he turned and looked high above. He squinted and activated the zoom function. He could see a break in some of the structures, high above. The Ghost crash site looked like it could have theoretically come from there...Finally, Jason shrugged and began to walk back to his Mongoose.

Whatever had happened, he would never know. It still didn't bring him any closer to figuring out what happened. All he had was speculation, his imagination. Which he always felt had never been too well developed. As he approached the Mongoose, he suddenly heard something approaching. Footfalls...he spun around, raising his SMG, and found himself staring at a de-cloaking Elite. For an instant, Jason froze.

"Human, wait!" the Elite called, raising one hand, palm out.

The universal sign to stop or wait. Jason hesitated further. Elites typically never bothered to talk to him, let alone waste a chance to kill him if he hadn't noticed them yet. The Elite was clad in dark armor, Special Ops. Its almost domed helmet and red slit eye holes were ominous. But this Elite made no moves for its weapons.

"What?" Jason asked cautiously.

"You must listen. Something of tremendous importance is happening amongst my people. We must-"

Whatever the Elite wanted, it never got. Because it stopped living, right then and there as a blue beam tore through its skull.

Jason cursed, diving for cover while attempting to spot the sniper.


	13. Part II: Rainfall Sonata

**Chapter 13  
><strong>_-Rainfall Sonata-_

He smashed his back against the hull of the ruined vehicle as another blue beam ripped past his eyes, briefly whiting out his vision. His breathing came hard and heavy. Jason had his pistol out now, knowing it was his only hope. He felt stupid for not carrying that Beam Rifle with him and knew there wasn't a hope in hell of getting there without getting sniped like that poor Elite bastard. He wondered what it had wanted to say to him.

Another beam focused Jason. He flipped over and peered cautiously through the cracked window of the cruiser. He could just barely make out the blue light that Jackals wore on their head when they weren't carrying shields. It was high above, positioned along one of the structures. Jason calculated its distance and position, then suddenly popped up and raised his pistol. He snapped his aim, zeroing as quickly as he could, and began opening fire. The ODST peppered the Jackal's position with burning lead.

His final shot struck true and blew the thing's brains out. Jason let out a relieved sigh as the Jackal's corpse toppled forward over the building to the ground below. He did a quick check of the area and found nothing else living. He would have to keep an eye along the rooftops now. He hopped back onto his Mongoose and kick started it. Another **Route Open** looked fairly inviting, not too far away up the street.

He brought the Mongoose up to the gate and activated it. He maneuvered around the skeletal frame of a burnt-out Warthog and made his way deeper into the city, into a large transitional plaza area. He idled to a halt, realizing that he had an advantage with a high ground that looked over the rest of the area. He quickly hopped off and approached a small ledge that dropped into a little garden. He crouched and scoped out the competition.

Another lousy patrol of a Brute and three Grunts scouted the area with slow repetition. He quickly sniped the three Grunts, dropping them like nothing. The Brute caught whiff of his scent maybe, or had good eyes, because it immediately made for Jason's location, raising its Spiker. Jason quickly emptied the rest of the clip into the Brute, the bullets rebounding off its shields. He cursed and hurled a grenade.

The Brute easily dodged it. Jason took the opportunity to whip out his SMG and open fire from his raised position. After a few seconds of sustained fire, the Brute's shields finally vaporized. It grunted repeatedly as Jason pumped the rest of the clip into the thing's skull. As it fell, he quickly reloaded both weapons and looked around for more enemies. But if there were any, they would have come running at the sound of the fire fight.

He remounted his Mongoose and began driving down into the depression. The area was large, but ultimately felt uninteresting. Just more desolate, rain-slicked roads, painted in neon green, and derelict vehicles. Jason wasted a few minutes driving around in an underground area, only to find that it was all locked down. He sighed and returned to his point of origin, then slowly began making his way back up the depression.

After a moment, he realized that he was coming back the way he had come. He frowned. Quickly, he pulled up his map on the VISR after double checking to see that there were no enemies around. He was near the hidden supply cache and suicide alleyway he had found earlier. Should he go back, press on into new territory? Scrolling back the way he had come, he saw that there was still a large portion of the city yet undiscovered. And there wasn't much back the way he had come...choices, choices.

Finally, he shrugged and deactivated the map. There were no helpful signs around, so he made due and continued his path, going back the way he had come. Gunning it a bit, just because he loved going fast on Mongeese, Jason brought the ATV up the incline and to another road that led to a square with a gazebo-like structure in the middle. His jaw dropped as he spied a fresh contingent of Covenant occupying an area previously empty.

He barely had time to react, only managing to simply hop off the Mongoose and run. Several streams of plasma opened up and raked across the Mongoose. Jason cried out, ducking down, as he heard the Mongoose explode under the constant plasma fire. Small burning bits rained down from above. A perfectly good Mongoose...gone. He growled, ducking down behind a three-pronged Covenant barrier, and scoped the area out.

Three plasma turrets had been set up, each being manned by a Grunt. He saw a pair of Brutes commanding the Grunts, and high up in a tunnel that connected two buildings was a Jackal sniper, no doubt watching his position carefully. He couldn't decide what to do first. Finally, he pulled out his pistol and peered carefully around the corner. Bringing his pistol to bear, he quickly zeroed the first Grunt's head and squeezed the trigger.

Almost as soon as the Grunt went down, the plasma fire returned. He scrabbled back around as a sudden explosion of pain hit his right forearm. One of the bolts had hit his armor. While there was no serious damage, it still stung like all hell. He ignored it. One down, too many to go. Scooting over to the other side, he repeated the procedure with another Grunt. More plasma headed his way, raking across the Covenant barrier that he knew wouldn't hold forever. He peered around the same corner and, as he expected, they were watching the opposite corner, attempting to predict where he was going to be and guessing he would have crawled back to the other side.

He used these precious few seconds to take down the Jackal sniper, getting one hell of a lucky shot and head-shoting the thing. It squawked awkwardly and crashed to the ground. Just as Jason was pulling back, he spotted a Brute rushing him in a sudden mad rage. He quickly pulled out and primed a plasma grenade. He popped up, standing fully now, and hurled the grenade directly onto the Brute's chest.

This did not deter it. Quite the opposite. It seemed to charge faster. Jason's eyes widened as the Brute reached the other side of the barrier, began to climb over and then vaporized in a bright white light. Jason screamed as he was thrown back. He skidded along the pavement, his armor shooting sparks as he ground to a halt. And suddenly he found himself being run up on by the second Brute. Jason brought his SMG to bear, but knew it wouldn't be enough.

And then a miracle happened. The Brute, standing there, Brute Shot poised for the killing blast, suddenly grunted and took a few steps forward. Jason quickly opened fire whilst simultaneously realizing that the Grunt must have panicked and opened fire on Jason's position and instead had nailed the Brute in the back. It was enough. Its shields blew away and Jason capped it in the skull. The bullets went in, the blood came out. Jason rose to his feet and grinned darkly as he stalked forward towards the final Grunt.

It was clearly panicking. It abandoned its position and began running away from him. Perfect. Jason brought his pistol to bear and opened fire. His dark, sadistic grin widened as the Grunt's methane pack exploded and splattered the thing all over the place. He stopped walking abruptly, staring around at the rainy aftermath. Slowly, he turned and stared back at his ruined Mongoose. He sighed, but at least it wasn't a total loss.

He quickly retraced his steps back to the supply cache, geared up on some more ammo and hopped onto the second Mongoose. He returned to the square, vowing to be more careful. He policed up a few more plasma grenades and, against his better judgment, a spike grenade. Just in case. After that, he worked his way past a burnt-out Wraith Tank towards another open gateway. Passing through it, he idled into the next area.

It looked clear. Jason coasted down an incline, finding his gaze drawn to more immense damage. He slowed to a stop, staring at a huge, burning piece of debris. It didn't seem to fit...what was it? Jason felt a gasp escape his throat with sudden realization. He couldn't believe it...but it had to be part of the _space elevator_. It must have collapsed in the slipspace rupture. It was the only thing that made sense.

"Holy God..." he whispered.

Such an event would cause...untold, catastrophic destruction. Finally, he tore his gaze away from it and continued along. He began making his way through a particularly dark section of the city. It was difficult to see, even with his visor. He continued driving, making his way down an incline, across a street and up another incline. Somewhere not too far ahead, he thought he could spy another open route.

He grinned briefly, feeling good, and went a little faster. Jason went up the incline, attempting to keep an eye out. But it was so dark...he knew he was not alone when a Hunter suddenly roared and seemed to emerge from the darkness and smashed into him _and_ his Mongoose with its shield. Jason felt a scream rip from his throat as the immense force of the hit sent him flying, end over end, off the Mongoose, into a nearby wall.

He crashed to the ground, groaning, already grabbing for the plasma grenades. He pushed himself up and tried to gauge if anything was broken. It felt like his ribs might be, but probably not. They still hurt like a bitch. Jason hurled the plasma grenade while he rolled to avoid a charge of plasma from one of the Hunters. Distantly, he could hear Brutes shouting. How the _hell_ was he going to survive this one?

His luck seemed to be up, at least, he realized as the plasma grenade landed directly on the Hunter's face. It ruptured and sent the thing stumbling a few steps backwards. Jason crawled to his feet and primed another grenade. He hurled it, and laughed as it connected _again_ to the Hunter's chest. Another explosion, another few stumbled steps. His jaw dropped. He had forgotten how tough these damned things were.

He cried out and dodged another green globule of plasma that hit a car behind him down the incline and blew the damn thing up. Final grenade. He primed and tossed it. Jason found time for a smile. Three for three as the thing connected to the Hunter's armor and _this_ time it went crashing to the ground with a resounding groan. One down, one to go. Not to mention the Brutes. Out of grenades, well plasma at least.

Jason hurled a pair of fragmentation grenades at the other Hunter's feet while dodging yet another glob of green plasma. The fragments rebounded harmlessly off the thing's armor. It began to charge forward, spurred on by its Bond Brother's death. Jason prepared himself. He brought his SMG to bear and stood in the path of the Hunter that charged towards him with all the power of an oncoming train. At the last moment, he jumped out of the way, spinning around to take advantage of the thing's exposed back.

He opened and managed to put a good number of round into the Hunter's back, sending little geysers of orange blood up. But the Hunter had other plans in mind than dying. It suddenly flipped back, nearly smashing him with its massive shield. Jason cried out, barely dodging the devastating blow. He began to take fire from the Brutes. He growled and attempted to ignore them. He repeated the process with the Hunter once more and eliminated the great beast. As it clattered to the ground, he moved for cover and stared at the Brutes.

There were only two of them. And it seemed that, yet again, luck was on his side. They were crouching behind a barrier, but, seemingly unnoticed, a pair of Covenant energy crates resided beside them. They were known universally for being unstable. He grinned, brought his SMG to bear and fired off the last few rounds into the crates. They ruptured and vaporized the Brutes where they stood, leaving nothing but pieces and silence.

Jason sighed as he rose up and stared at the ruined remains of the second Mongoose. Now he was stuck walking, with not one spare Mongoose in sight. Slowly, he trudged through the rainfall up towards the gate.


	14. Part II: Broken & Weary

**Chapter 14  
><strong>_-Broken & Weary-_

The gate opened and revealed more of the city. Jason silently made his way along the road, sticking to the shadows as he loped down an incline. He quickly was faced with a decision. Another fork in the road. He looked left, then right. One way looked just as inviting as the other: flickering lights casting awkward shadows on derelict structures and the burnt remains of his friends and foes alike. Paper drifted aimlessly through the air and the rain fell like eternity. Everything was glazed over, painted in soft neon green.

He sighed, shrugged and turned right. Jason quietly missed his Mongoose, wishing to ride it through the city ceaselessly. For some reason, he just loved the little ATVs. Jason froze as a loud hiss filled the air and suddenly a pair of roadblocks popped up out of the ground. He stared at them curiously, and waited for something else to happen. Nothing did. He shrugged and walked around them, continuing his path.

Temple took this time to come back to life.

_"__Any luck with finding the others, DuPree?" _he asked, his voice coming in smooth over the soft hiss of an open channel.

"Zippo," Jason replied. "Dare's pod was empty. No clues as to where the hell she went. I haven't found or heard shit from _anyone_, man. It's depressing. I'm not much of a detective," Jason said, pausing and hiding in a dark, rainy crevice, nestled between a pair of derelict, anonymous buildings. Temple chuckled.

_"__Chin up, kid, you're doing fine. Every now and then, I hear explosions. I'm sure I can credit them to you. Between the two of us, we'll clean this city out. And we'll find our squad, have no fear, man."_

Temple was silent again while Jason considered that. Lots of things were hurting inside now. His chest ached and his right leg throbbed dully in pain. His head, which had finally cleared of hurting not too long ago, was yet again volatile with misery. That Hunter had really done a number on him. He was worried that one of his ribs might be cracked. But he was lucky to walk away from the incident at all.

_"__So, it's your turn, DuPree. Tell me about yourself,"_ Temple said.

"You already read my file," Jason replied.

_"__Tell me what the file can't."_ Jason considered this. Temple seemed like a pretty cool guy, maybe even a good friend. If they got out of this mess alive. He couldn't even imagine how poorly he'd be handling the situation if he were truly alone.

"I don't know...I was engaged, once," Jason said, surprised even as the words left his mouth.

_"__File didn't mention that."_

"Yeah...I never told anyone after...well, after she died on me."

_"__...I'm really sorry, Jason."_

He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the things he always kept on him. Her picture. She looked so beautiful...but she always did. And always would, in his memories. He put it away as the rainfall began to get it wet.

"Me too...killed in a Covenant glassing. It's why I joined. Her name was Lindsay Reeves. It was going to be Lindsay DuPree." Silence then, and nothing more.

_"__I'm sorry."_

Jason didn't know where to go from there, and, apparently, neither did Temple. He was pulled from his memories, however, as he heard the noises of another Covenant patrol up ahead. He began working his way down an incline into another plaza.

Already sticking to the shadows, Jason ducked down and took advantage of his element of surprise. He was eager to get back into combat, to ease the pain of the cold memories. Ahead, patrolling the ruins of what looked like the aftermath of a _huge_ battle, were a few Grunts and Brutes. Jason frowned, thinking. Slowly, a smile crawled onto his face. It was time for some sneaking.

Carefully, ducking low, he hurried across the street towards sparking remains of a Wraith Tank. One of the Brutes was leaning casually up against the front of it, eyes drooping, half lidded, apparently attempting to doze. It would be his greatest, and final, mistake. Being extremely careful and quiet, like how Price had taught him, he snuck forward until he was right next to the Brute. Carefully, he reached forward and activated one of the Spike grenades attached to the Brute's satchel. He immediately pulled back around the other side of the Tank.

The Brute jerked awake at the sound, and simply exploded. Pieces of the Brute splattered here and there, and Jason had to suppress a laugh as everything jerked awake as the explosion echoed down the lonely roads. The two Brutes that were left over stared around in apprehension, and one began to approach the tank. Jason remained static, waiting for the right moment. He gripped the spike grenade he had appropriated what felt like so long ago and prepared to use it. The Brute would be so close, he couldn't miss...could he?

Jason shrugged mentally. He was working on the fly now. The Brute came to stand where the original had been standing. The ODST slowly stood up, spike grenade held tightly in his white knuckled grasp, and remained hidden by the shadows. The Brutes couldn't see as well as he could. They had no VISR. Jason grinned darkly as he activated the spike grenade and threw it directly onto the Brute's face. The thing screamed as the spikes jutted into his facial features, and then stopped screaming and stumbling backwards when the grenade ruptured.

Before the pieces could even finish raining down from above, Jason stalked coldly out of the darkness, raised his pistol and began firing. Each shot was precise and perfect, capping all the Grunts in the area. Six shots, six deaths. All that was left was one Brute. Jason dodged as a Brute Shot grenade was hurled his way. It exploded against the hull of the Wraith behind him. He raised his SMG and opened fire while moving sideways.

He traded one full clip of ammo for one Brute corpse. Alone now, Jason quickly reloaded and raided the Grunts for grenades. After appropriating a compliment of plasma grenades, he hurried to the center of the area, on a slightly elevated platform. He looked around, taking in the scenery. It was obvious a huge battle had occurred. There were a pair of Wraith Tanks, a ruined Scorpion, lots of bodies mixed in...hell, there were even a few crashed Banshees around, one of them still burning brilliantly across the way.

More choices...he thought that he could see another gate not too far away. Jason hopped down and made his way across the area, towards a few stairwells that led up to another apartment building. As he hurried up the stairs, he hesitated at the entrance to the apartments. On a whim, he tried the door, and found that it opened.

He stared into the dark opening for a moment, then finally decided against it. Probably nothing in there. He turned, another open gateway lay up the street. He hurried over to it and activated it. Jason scouted the new area as he pressed on, and wondered absentmindedly if he had been there before. He briefly checked the map...but it wasn't really of any use. He couldn't follow it too well. Briefly, he mused once more that it had been pretty poorly designed.

The next area was another large, open, circular plaza with a gazebo structure in the center. He hurried through it, finding the area abandoned and forsaken. Before long, he came to another fork in the road and broke left, deciding that the incline didn't look too appealing. He briefly thought about his squad mates as he continued through the dark, lonely silence. It was true that he was the new guy, and he only had a few days spent with them before this, their first mission together. Which could hardly be considered a mission at all.

Despite the small amount of time together, he felt as if he had gotten to know them well. Buck seemed like a good, solid leader. The others felt fairly comfortable with each other, like they had been through a lot together. Jason had hoped to fit in with them, they seemed to be warming up to him at least somewhat. He wondered just what it was exactly about Temple that seemed to make him so vague in his memories.

A familiar humming noise brought Jason out of his thought process, jarring him back to reality. He had worked his way to another area. An incline led down to his left, and up ahead he could see another incline parallel. Further to his left something burned brilliantly. But what had grabbed his attention was a Ghost. The first working vehicle, besides the Mongeese, he had seen ever since he had crashed to the earth out his jump pod.

It was being manned by a Grunt, simply hovering there. It looked as if the Grunt had dozed off. Jason grinned. He hurried up, reached forward and snapped the Grunt's neck simultaneously pulling it away from the Ghost. It died without a sound. Jason hopped onto the Ghost and grabbed the controls. It was time for some Ghost Patrol. Grinning, he slowly brought the Covenant vehicle around to the second incline and made his way down it.

Ahead, he spotted a small group of Grunts and a Brute making their way towards him down the road. Clearly his Ghost was within view, but they weren't panicking. And why should they? It was supposed to be a Grunt riding in the vehicle, and it was dark out...Jason looked forward at the Covenant and all he saw were bowling pins. And he felt like a bowling ball. He nudged the thing forward, ducking down as not to appear too tall. As he got within range, he gunned it. And there was nowhere to go as the Ghost plowed through the Covenant.

No more enemies were around for now, so Jason cruised along. He worked his way down the streets and up to another plaza with a large, towering piece of art, he assumed it was at least, in the center that dominated the view. He saw many paths, and chose one at random. It led to a closed down gate that refused to budge. Slightly annoyed, Jason worked his way back and chose another path. He worked his way down another path that eventually wound around to yet another plaza area. He blew through a pair of Jackals getting there, but hesitated as he spotted more Covenant in the area ahead. To his left, an open gateway was appealing.

He cruised quietly up to it and hopped off, quickly activating the gate and jumping back on. Slowly, he wound his way through more anonymous, dark streets. This place seemed fairly abandoned. Jason allowed his mind to wander more. What would he do when he reunited with his new squad? Probably get in trouble for not getting into contact with them. Well, Temple would back him up. And he'd already tried, several times, in fact.

As he pressed on, he found a pair of Jackals on patrol and gunned the bastards down. Up ahead, one route was blocked by a massive Covenant shield. He ignored it and continued along, making his way through another square where some more Jackals resided. He quickly ran the birdlike aliens over and hovered along. Something told him he was nearing...something. He wasn't sure what. He came into another open area, roughly rectangular shaped.

Jason slowed to a stop in front of a few large grates that were closed over big, dark spaces that led down to some tram tunnels. He scouted the abandoned area for a few moments, and eventually happened upon something random. A biofoam canister had been tossed haphazardly onto the ground in front of the one the gates. Jason knelt and picked it up. It was empty, used. Why was it lying here? Could it have something to do with his lost squad?

His imagination began working as he stared at the bio-foam canister. He could see his squad, reunited after a long and bitter struggle across the city against the Covenant. Tired, injured and determined, maybe they fought their way through the tunnels in some stolen Covenant vehicles. A gigantic slaughter, possibly ending with something as huge as a climatic battle with a Scarab. He could picture Buck crashing a Banshee into the Scarab, hopping out and blasting its core. Then racing away, back in his Banshee, as the explosion resounded for miles.

But is that really what happened? Had they even come this way? For once, as Jason tossed the canister aside and stood up, he began to wonder...were he and Temple truly alone in this city? Had his squadron already left, leaving them behind, believing the new guys to be dead? Were they wandering this desolate city, chasing ghosts? Did it matter? Shoving all these doubtful thoughts aside for now, Jason returned to his Ghost and hopped back on.

It was time to keep on searching.

What else did he have to do?


	15. Part II: These Strange Times

**Chapter 15  
><strong>_-These Strange Times-_

What now?

Jason sat idly on his hovering Ghost, staring down an incline that led further into the city. Chillsome rain spattered his suit and saturated the cityscape. He was worried. But it was more than just the typical apprehension that came from a combat situation. He had grown used to that over the years. No, this was something different. Something familiar, but only recently so. Jason was scared that he was truly alone out here. What if Temple were dead now? He hadn't heard from the Corporal in over an hour. Where would that leave him?

Jason's logic was slowly but surely losing ground to fear. He was afraid of being alone. In the war, he had found that there was almost always someone around. He was always with a squad of some sort. And while their time together was a sharp divide of mind-numbing boredom and insane amounts of violence as they rushed across some nameless battlefield, drawing invisible lines while the ashes of the fallen rained down from the heavens, he could handle that. But this? It was something he wasn't accustomed to.

Isolation bothered him, for some reason. Jason suddenly clamped down, clamped down _hard_, on his emotions. He'd make due with what he had. And if Jason drew any connections between what had happened on New Jerusalem and what was happening here...he ignored it. He hovered down the incline, intent on continuing his search. As he made his way down, he suddenly found himself under fire by a plasma turret, manned by a Grunt perched on a level above. He gunned it, and smashed into a Jackal as it leaped out from behind a car to open fire on him.

Jason grunted as he was thrown forward off the Ghost, having rammed it into a car. He landed on top of the Jackal's corpse. Distantly, he could hear Brutes. He groped blindly amongst the rain-slicked road for the Beam Rifle. His fingers finally found it and he snatched it up. Lying on his back, bringing the rifle up, pointed back the way he had come, he targeted the Grunt manning the turret and blew its head off.

Quickly, he snapped the rifle opposite, now pointing it towards the way he had yet to go. His eyes widened briefly as he spotted two Brutes coming for him suddenly jump into the air, propelled by jump packs. Jason shook his head and focused. He had precious, little time. Zooming in on the closest Brute's skull, he squeezed the trigger. The Brute flipped backwards as it lost most of its head, and smashed into the side of the a building. The second Brute was fast closing. Jason lined up another shot and fired, but it went wide.

The Brute landed at his feet, plasma rifle ready for execution. Jason corrected the rifle's view and squeezed the trigger again. The Brute grunted and took a few steps back as a beam of pure blue energy shot through its chest. Jason fired again and the Brute flew backwards this time, its shield gone, along with some of its chest. He rose quickly to his feet, trying to catch his breath, and looked around for more enemies.

But the area remained static. Quickly, he climbed back onto his Ghost and continued along. He had to stay focused. He'd kill every Covenant in the ruins of New Mombasa if he could. Jason made sure the Beam Rifle was secure on a small weapons slot on the Ghost as he rode. The next few areas were abandoned and before long, he had tracked down another gateway. He worked his way through it and continued on into the city.

Jason idled through several more areas, getting somewhat lost along the way. But what was lost when you didn't know where you were going? The dark city streets and burning, derelict buildings were all starting to run together at this point. How long had he been here? How long had he been stalking these lonely streets? How long _would_ he be? Could everyone really be dead? If someone was alive, surely he would have heard from them by now...right? Jason sighed. He realized he had lost track of where he was going.

"Hey Temple...you still strong?" Jason asked, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled over them.

_"__Still strong,"_ Temple replied. _"__How are you doing?"_

"I'm okay...I've put a few dozen more bastards down. I wonder how many are crawling all over this town."

_"__Probably a lot more. Hundreds, maybe. But we can take 'em."_

"Yeah...how close are you to the ONI HQ?"

_"__Not too far. Maybe a klik. I'll have to cross a bridge to get to it. I'll let you know when I get there, but...I'm heading deep into enemy territory here. Sorry, my friend, but radio silence."_

"Affirmative. I'll keep my ears open. Out."

As he came into another area with a large piece of artwork in the center, Jason thought he recognized the place. But quickly realized that it could be the same place he'd been before...or one that just looked similar. He sighed. New Mombasa sucked. Jason let his gaze drift about, his Ghost just hovering there. Something caught his eye. He squinted, then hopped off the Ghost.

"What the hell..." he muttered, staring up at it.

Was it...yes, it was. A bent sniper rifle, hanging from some power lines. He frowned. What a weird thing...he looked around, then found a large piece of debris and picked it up. He poked awkwardly at the rifle for a few seconds, and finally knocked over it off. He knelt to pick it up, abandoning the debris, and paused for a second. He glanced back up at the power lines.

"Wow...that was stupid," he said quietly to himself.

He could have been electrocuted. He shrugged it off, glad that he wasn't and not as concerned, realizing that his suit probably would have absorbed most of the shock. But still...he retrieved the rifle and studied it. The muzzle was bent backwards and generally pretty jacked up. Where had it come from? He glanced up, and then returned his attention to the rifle.

He tried bending the muzzle back to normal. Jason grunted with effort and began wondering what the hell could cause this to happen. His imagination went into overdrive, attempting to generate some sort of scenario to explain how the _hell_ this happened. Again, he tied it to his squad. Maybe there had been some sort of epic fight, before their great escape in the Phantom, along the rooftops, high above. Some huge, titanic battle with Banshees and Phantoms, ending in an all-out brawl with a Hammer wielding Brute.

And perhaps, at some point during the strife, the sniper rifle had been bent and broken and tossed over the side. Jason stopped attempting to bend it back into shape.

"Why the _hell_ am I trying to do this?!" he cried and suddenly threw the ruined rifle aside.

As if to respond to his violent action, he heard the sound of a Phantom flying in. It was close, too close. He glanced up and saw it flying over him, heading deeper into the area to find a suitable landing position. In a sudden fit of rage, Jason primed a plasma grenade and hurled it into the sky towards the Phantom. He watched as it actually attached to the back of the thing, near the engines. It blew up. What happened next felt impossible.

The Phantom stopped abruptly, coming to a hover. Within seconds, another explosion ripped through the back of the vehicle. And then another. And another. And more. Soon, miniature explosions were tearing across the hull, working their way up to the front. And suddenly the entire thing burst into a great blue-white ball of plasma in an explosion that resounded over the city.

"No...effing...way..." he muttered, his jaw dropping open, as if unhinged.

He stared as flaming shrapnel rained down like death from above. Jason was simply amazed at his own luck sometimes. Finally, he shrugged the whole thing off and hopped back into his Ghost. Time to move on. He left the area and began working his way deeper into the city, moving at a nearly completely random direction at this point.

Jason was suddenly depressed by the thought that he was literally no closer to finding his lost squad. He had yet to find any actual evidence, except for Dare's helmet...and that was barely any evidence at all. He sighed. They _had_ to be alive, they _had_ to be out there. They couldn't just abandon him...didn't they have the technology to track his pod? Surely hunting him down wouldn't be _that_ difficult of a task. Even if he had left his pod, they could track him by his suit...unless it had been damaged in the crash or the past few hours...

Jason sighed. Too many unknowns. He focused on what he did know, as he rode through the streets. He was alone. The city of New Mombasa was in ruins. He was surrounded by Covenant, intent on his death. He was _damn good_ at killing said Covenant. All he could rely on him was himself...Christ, that wasn't much to go off of. He absentmindedly passed through another gate, noting that this area of the city seemed to be pretty abandoned.

Jason pressed on, and began noticing that he was passing through the same area again. He slowed to a stop and looked around. He frowned.

"Wait a minute..." he muttered.

That same apartment building he had almost gone in earlier...he hopped off the Ghost. For some reason, he wanted to back inside. He entered and began working his way to the top, through darkened, flickering, body-stricken corridors. He passed dozens of locked doors, not wondering what dark secrets lay beyond them. He continued his climb until he rose above it all. The last time he had been in an apartment building, it had yielded decent results. He hoped for similar results this time.

He came to the rooftop, where he discovered the wrecked remains of a gauss turret. He studied it, grabbing the remains and staring through the broken scope. Had his squad used it, coming through here, in some desperate conflict? Maybe some of them, lost and alone, had connected, and gone through a brutal skirmish against the Covenant. Jason could picture the courageous Helljumpers gathering the Marines of the city together, left behind in the wake of the slipspace explosion, and leading them to victory.

Jason let go of the turret and looked down. He saw his Ghost down on the street below and wanted to get back onto it. There was more hunting to do.

He began to make his way down through the apartment building.


	16. Part II: The Calm Before

**Chapter 16  
><strong>_-The Calm Before-_

Now what?

It was a question that Jason found himself asking himself far too often lately. He stared around, again seated on the hovering Ghost. He looked around, typically there was something in his environment that gave him some sort of clue as to where to go. Somewhere up ahead, up a few ramps, he thought he could see another open gate. It looked as appealing as anything else. Jason pushed the Ghost forward, towards the ramps.

He moved up the inclines and opened the gate. He began working his way through the debris-strewn street beyond, dodging as a portion of the street, presumably a roadblock, rose up out of the surface of the street. He gunned it as a pair of Jackals rushed out from behind smashed vehicles. He splattered them and sent their broken bodies flying through the air. He thought he could hear more up ahead and hurried on.

Barely fitting between a large, square roadblock and a wall adjacent to the street, Jason jolted in surprise as he nailed an invisible Brute that was in the process of hurling a flame grenade. The ODST twisted and turned to watch the trajectory of the grenade as he brought the Ghost to halt. He watched as it smashed to the ground and painted the area in brief luminescence, and lit up yet _another_ cloaked Brute. Jason openly laughed as he watched the thing crash to the ground, roasting alive and screaming. He returned his attention to the front, hunting for survivors. He grinned as he spotted a lone Grunt fleeing the scene.

"Come here," he growled as he gunned it.

Surprise exploded onto Jason's face as he watched the Grunt turn around and hurl a plasma grenade. It attached to the front of the Ghost as Jason smashed into the Grunt. He cried out and tried to bail, but the explosion happened way too fast. The ODST was hurled backwards as the force of the grenade overrode the force of the Ghost going forward. And he must have passed out, because suddenly he was staring up at the night sky, frozen rain pelting his visor, the whole are painted in neon.

Too many things hurt. Jason let out a groan. His chest hurt worse than before, just when he had been getting used to it...he needed some biofoam. He blinked a few times and slowly sat up. The motion nearly caused him to throw up, he was so dizzy. He sat there, leaning back, propped up on his palms. He waited for the world to stop spinning. When it finally did, he made the slow climb to his feet.

He swayed only slightly for a few seconds, and finally regained his composure. At least his SMG and Pistol were still secure. And some ammo for them. Jason took a few steps, then stumbled and crashed to the ground.

"_Shit_!" he heard himself scream.

He pushed himself up, surprised at his outburst. A sudden fury of rage had rippled through him. Why was he so quick to anger suddenly? He shook his head and got back up. Maybe he was more stressed out than he thought he was. He continued walking, slowing to a stop as he checked his Ghost. It was gone. He sighed and went to retrieve the Beam Rifle. But it wouldn't budge.

He gave it a good tug, but still it stayed. He growled and felt another ripple of anger shudder through him. Finally, he gave up and calmly stood up. He glanced over. He was parallel to a sign that said **Keep Left**. He frowned and looked around, then began walking the way that the sign pointed. For now, he just wanted to know what to do. But within two seconds, he had come to another sign that said **Detour** and pointed...back the way he had come. He frowned and walked back to confirm that yes, the signs were pointing at _each other_.

Somewhere nearby, some incredibly annoying, scratchy voice was saying,

_"__Please! Walk!"_ Only it was echoing, like there were two of them, saying it very slightly out of synch. Jason closed his eyes.

_"__Please! Walk!"_ He controlled his breathing, taking deep, calming breaths.

_"__Please! Walk!"_ He opened his eyes, staring from one sign to the other. They were pointing...at each _other_.

_"__Please! Walk!"_

"_That is it_!" Jason shrieked suddenly.

He ripped out his SMG, leveled it at the Detour sign and opened fire. He emptied the clip into it, shattering the screen and sending sparks flying everywhere. When the gun was dry, he screamed and threw it into the ruined screen. He marched up to the other sign and slammed his fist into it.

"_Where do I go!?_" he shrieked at the top of his lungs. "_You tell me where to go! You tell me where they are_!"

The screen remained the same, the only sound was that of power, humming quietly. And the rainfall. Jason suddenly deflated, his overwhelming emotions slowly departing him. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Damn," he whispered.

Slowly, he approached his discarded SMG and knelt. He retrieved it, inspected it and then reloaded it. It still worked. He slung it over his shoulder and stood there in the rainfall, staring around the forsaken, neon city. He really _was_ a lot more stressed out than he had imagined. But he felt better now. Maybe a little shaky, but better now. He took another deep, more stable, breath and turned around, hunting for where to go.

Another gateway. He walked up to it, now knowing that wherever he went, he'd have to walk. He activated the gate and peered inside. It led to a tunnel that held a few unsuspecting Covenant, some Grunts and a Brute. Jason chuckled, how the hell had they not heard his little mental breakdown? He shrugged and hurled a few fragmentation grenades. The Covenant had nowhere to go, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. They were all consumed in fiery, metal fragments. Jason pressed on, making his way through the tunnel. He reached another gate and passed through.

"Holy shit," he whispered as he bore witness to what was on the other side.

He was in another inclined area, but the view was very obvious. In the distance, he spotted a massive, burning square building. It looked like it had suffered intense amounts of damage. He pressed slowly on, coming out out of the depression, and approached what he realized was a ruined bridge. He walked to the edge of the street and stared down into the dark waters below. What had happened here? He stared ahead, the bridge had connected to the burning building...

Jason turned and began walking away. He nearly tripped on a small object on the ground. He knelt and studied it. A remote detonator...a UNSC one...

"_We_ blew this bridge up," he whispered.

And if we had blown the bridge up, had we also destroyed that building in the distance? He turned and looked. He put imaginary pieces together. Perhaps the Covenant were rolling in fast, and destroying the bridge had been their last defensive option. But why the building? It _was_ designed fairly uniquely. Maybe...maybe it was somewhere critical, somewhere important.

Maybe it was an ONI building, packed with secrets. Temple's ONI HQ? And they had destroyed it, as not to let the Covenant get their hands on it. Could this have something to do with Dare's secret mission? She had never told them what they were _really_ doing down there...

"DuPree, holy shit."

Jason nearly jumped out of his skin and put half a clip into Temple when he heard the voice. He spun and saw the ODST in black armor standing there, amongst the shadows.

"Getting jumpy, DuPree," Temple said, no doubt wearing a smirk beneath that opaque visor.

"Gonna save the Covenant a lot of trouble, doing that," Jason said, his heart rate slowly climbing back down. Temple chuckled.

"Sorry...I was just looking for a way over," he said, turning to look at the building burning in the distance.

"That HQ?" Jason asked. Temple nodded solemnly. "Shit..." Guess he guessed right. "What do you think happened?"

"Not sure. Looks like we blew it...Command probably freaked when the Covenant were closing in and ordered it bombed to keep them from getting their grubby paws on it..." Temple trailed off, staring at the burning ruins across the frigid, churning black waters below.

"Now what?" Jason asked finally.

"Now? I don't know...I'm at a loss."

Jason straightened up suddenly as he heard heard static on his headset.

_"__This is Captain Veronica Dare, reporting to anyone that can hear me. I'm in need of assistance. I'm underground, repeat, I'm underground and I need assistance to anyone who can hear me."_ He cast a glance at Temple before responding.

"This is Lance Corporal DuPree! I'm here, Captain! Can you hear me!?"

_"__-Pree, that you-zzt-eed backu-zzt-" _was the scattered response.

"Captain Dare! Captain Dare!" he cried. Nothing this time. Jason chewed his lip nervously. She had to be nearby. She was underground...

"What do you think?" he asked Temple.

"She has to be close. Aw, shit...come on."

They jogged down to the gate and began sprinting through the tunnel. As they opened up the second gate, the pair emerged to see a Phantom dropping off a contingent of jetpack Brutes and a few Grunts and Jackals.

"I am _not_ in the mood for this," Jason growled.

He spotted a Grunt corpse nearby. He snatched up one of the plasma grenades there and fell back a few paces, ducking down behind a car with Temple, who was currently opening fire. Jason shot at the Brutes a few times to get their attention. Two immediately jumped into the air, laughing as they flew towards him. They fell right into his trap. Two seconds before they touched down, Jason activated and hurled the plasma grenade at the Grunt's body, where they happened to be landing. The pair couldn't stop now.

Temple offered joyous laughter at the gratuitous destruction.

They landed in the middle of a massive explosion and were consumed by the exploding plasma grenade, the pair of other plasma grenades that the first set off, and the Grunt's methane tank. Jason ducked down and nearly had his head taken off by something big and green. It flew over the car and landed at his feet. It took him a second to realize what it was, and then he grinned widely as he did realize.

He snatched up the Fuel Rod Cannon and stood up, slinging his SMG for now. Another two Brutes, the only two left from Temple's precision firing, were quickly approaching his position, backed up by a few Grunts and Jackals. They were going to try and deal with the pair all at once. Temple turned his fire towards the approaching Covies, but Jason decided to deal with _them_ all at once. For Jason, it was a simple as pointing the Fuel Rod Cannon in their general direction and rapidly squeezing the trigger.

The explosions resounded, echoing down the city streets and momentarily blinding Jason with their immense power. When the Fuel Rod Cannon was empty and the dust had settled, everything but the ODSTs were dead.

"Goddamn," Temple muttered. "Remind me never to piss you off."

Jason laughed. He abandoned the Cannon, now that it was empty, and looked around. Immediately, a sign caught his eye. It pointed them down the road, the way they hadn't gone yet. Jason stared at it for a second, then pulled out his SMG and started walking. Temple joined him, fidgeting with his battle rifle. A few seconds later, they came to another sign, which pointed them towards a small, enclosed area with a closed door that was unlocked. They hurried up to it, this had to be the entrance to the underground.

As he opened it open, he realized that it couldn't get much more underground if it tried. He stared down long into the elevator shaft that plunged into the earth, lit by the crimson glare of emergency lighting. He frowned for a second.

"Well?" Jason asked, glancing over at Temple.

The man responded by slinging his SMG and taking a running leap at the rope hanging down the center of the shaft. Without giving himself time to think about it, Jason ran and jumped forward, grabbing a rope that descended into the crimson hole and began to lower himself down, following his fellow ODST.

For better or for worse...they were going down.


	17. Part II: Still Strong

**Chapter 17  
><strong>_-Still Strong-_

_"__Low on ammo...if anyone can here me, I'm on SubLevel 9. Hurry."_ Jason hit ground and looked around. Temple was already ahead, scouting the way.

"I'm here, Captain Dare," he said, but static was his answer.

He sighed. What was with the shitty radios today? He looked around to orient himself, he was on SubLevel 7. It was time to make tracks. He was on top of a stuck elevator, ahead of him was a large, open room where Temple's light cut through gloomy dimness. It looked as if the battle here had come and gone. A few Grunt corpses and explosion marks marred the otherwise clean area. He hopped down off the elevator.

"I hear Covenant ahead," Temple warned.

To his right, a door was attempting to shut, but failing. Jason squinted, confused, and approached it. He saw what was blocking the door. The foot of a corpse of a police officer was sticking out. For some reason, Jason found the scene both somewhat humorous and darkly disturbing. He turned away and joined Temple at the front of the room. Along the way, he gathered up a pair of fragmentation grenades, a plasma grenade and even a shotgun to be slung over his back. Just in case. Temple opened the door that led to the way ahead.

The path beyond led to a gently curing corridor that sloped deeper into the earth. It looked made entire of technology.

"What the hell _is _this place?" Jason murmured.

"Through the looking glass, now," Temple muttered in reply, allowing Jason to lead the way.

Jason found the response disturbing, for some reason. Again, the battle here had come and gone. Corpses from both sides lay scattered around the next room. Jason hurried over to the far right wall, ducking low and skirting the wall as he progressed deeper into the area. He opened up a comms channel again.

"Captain Dare," he whispered. "Are you there? It's Lance Corporal DuPree."

But still there was nothing. He sighed and left the channel open, just in case. They reached a bend in the corridor, keeping their weapons ready for use, and peered around to get a better view of what laid ahead. More technology blocked his way, big pieces of equipment spread evenly along the middle of the corridor. But otherwise, it looked uninhabited.

The pair of ODSTs navigated through the equipment until they came to another sloping incline that led deeper still. Ducking low and keeping quiet, they pressed onwards. There was a sense of urgency now. Earlier, nothing had been definite about other people. He hadn't run into a single survivor up top, in the ruins of the city. Well, no one but Temple and that Elite. If the Elite could count as a 'survivor'. But now he had proof that Captain Dare was alive at least. And she needed his help. ONI spook or not, he'd help her.

Jason wondered if the others had found her yet. But they probably hadn't, considering she was calling for help. Or maybe...maybe they had, and they had all died, and she was all that was left. Jason frowned as he hurried down the incline. He didn't need to think about this right now. Too many unknowns. He just needed to get to Dare. He and Temple blasted their way through a contingent of Grunts as they passed through them, and arrived at the end of the corridor.

There were a myriad of doors, but all but one was locked. So the pair passed through the unlocked one, and went down further still. It led to an identical corridor, this time home to a few Grunts and Jackals. Jason hurled a grenade in their general direction while whipping out his pistol. While they fled, he gunned them down. Temple didn't even have to contribute any of his bullets. This felt like cake compared to everything up there. Jason wished they hadn't bothered splitting up at all. It would have made everything a lot easier. They pressed on ruthlessly, ignoring all around them, stopping only to kill enemies.

The pair pressed on through the corridor until they came to a series of small rooms. Jason and Temple pushed on through them and came across something beautiful. A group of Covenant tightly packed together in a small, small area. Jason grinned as he hurled a pair of plasma grenades into their midst, pulled back, and listened to them vaporize. He savored it for a moment and pressed on ceaselessly. Until something made him stop.

He could hear someone shouting up ahead, arguing with...something called Vergil. He frowned. Another survivor? It was definitely human. He and Temple exchanged confused glances. Jason listened as he approached. The argument was something about Vergil being told to open something up, and refusing cryptically. Vergil was definitely an AI. Suddenly, some parts of the past few hours made sense. Vergil was an AI. Cities and colonies were maintained by 'Dumb' AIs. Nowhere nearly as smart as 'Smart' AIs, like Cortana, but still vastly intelligent and capable.

_That_ must have been what was helping him out...sort of...throughout his whole trek through New Mombasa. They hurried on and finally came to the location of the contention. Jason spotted a shotgun-wielding police officer standing near what looked like a large plug in the ground. He turned to look at the ODSTs, briefly raising his shotgun in shock, but immediately lowering it upon recognition. Jason came into the room while Temple hung back.

"So that was _you_ killing those Covenant back there. Thanks, they almost had me," he said, the relief palpable in his voice.

"Not a problem," Jason replied. "What's going on? Who are you?"

"I'm just a cop. I'm trying to get down to the next level, my team is down there, I think. But this plug is locked down tight, and Vergil won't open it up," the cop said, staring contemptuously at the screen that controlled the plug. Jason glanced over and took a step closer. Suddenly, there was a loud click, followed by,

_"__Welcome. Access Granted."_ And the plug began to lift. The cop looked over at him.

"Well, looks like _you_ have the magic touch," he muttered.

The plug lifted fully. The trio walked to the edge and glanced down. It was a good ten foot drop. Jason was pretty sure he and Temple could make it. Their armor would hold against the drop. Could the cop? Suddenly, a loud buzzing filled the area, a familiar one...

"Buggers!" the cop yelled.

Abruptly, he cried out and flew forward as he lost his balance. Jason made a grab for him, but it was far too late. He and Temple glanced up as half a dozen Drones filled the room. As they opened fire, blowing them away, he tried to listen for the cop. They spent a few minutes mowing the irritating flying things down, and then hopped down into the hole. Jason knelt at the cop's side while Temple secured the area silently.

"You okay?" he muttered. But the man was unmoving. Jason reached forward to check his pulse, but as he did, realized what had happened. The fall had snapped his neck. He was dead. Slowly, Jason stood.

"How is he?" Temple asked.

"Dead...the only other person we find and he dies in a minute," he muttered.

"Figures."

_"__Crime never pays."_

They both jumped. The AI had a buzzing, almost creepy voice. Jason looked around, confused. What the hell was it talking about? Temple offered a shrug with their eyes met. This didn't change anything. They moved on. The next area was darker than the last, and riddled with Covenant. Jason smiled. This was a good time to play assassin. He and Temple switched to their silenced pistols and stuck to the shadows. It was just a few Brutes and Grunts.

They spent the next few moments eliminating the enemies. They put down a few Grunts that had strayed too far from the group. And then killed one that got the attention of a Brute, which hurried over to investigate. Still hidden, Jason hurled a plasma grenade and stuck the big, ugly beast. He watched it vaporize. The last surviving Brute, now aware that something terrible was happening, charged in Jason's general direction. He was counting on this. He pulled out his shotgun and stepped out, raised the weapon and fired.

The blast eliminated the Brute's shields and sent it stumbling back. He took a step forward, raised the shotgun a little more, and blew the thing's head off.

"Not bad, DuPree. You know, when we get out of this, we should look into teaming up. It's tough to find someone to really have your back," Temple said.

"It would be nice to have someone around who can stay alive."

They came to another transitional chamber, a small room, and blasted through some unsuspecting Drones, merely flying out of a tunnel in a straight line. There were more transitional chambers, interconnected with tiny alcoves. They dispatched with the next group of Covenant by setting off a small cache of energy crates.

Jason felt like he was making pretty good progress. Something caught his eye as he walked on, something he had yet an opportunity to put to use. He knelt and retrieved a pair of flame grenades from a Brute corpse. He studied them for a moment, then attached them to his suit. Yes, these would come in quite handy. The pair pressed on, deeper and further down.

The ODSTs ran into another contingent of Covenant. Jason growled. He was getting pretty sick and tired of these bastards. Couldn't they just leave him alone? Temple seemed to sense his mounting frustration and graciously allowed him to hurl the flame grenades into the midst of the Covenant. They left their smoldering corpses behind as they came to another plug, which they found from the computer activation screen was called a Data Stack. Whatever it was called, Jason turned it on and they hopped down the final hole as it lifted.

"SubLevel 9," he muttered.

Dare would be nearby. As they stepped through the next doorway, leading into a familiar corridor, Jason shuddered briefly. The air being filtered in through his suit had a biting cold to it. Ahead, he could see frost and mist.

"What the hell?" he whispered.

"Freezing in here," Temple muttered.

They walked forward, and suddenly were in the midst of it. A pair of Grunts and a pair of Brutes came out from nowhere and opened fire. Jason cursed and, with one hand firing his SMG, had the other pull out and prime a plasma grenade and hurl it in their general direction. The grenade caused them to scatter. Jason took the opportunity to dodge some bolts and mow down the Grunts.

He quickly pulled out his shotgun and rushed the Brutes, pumping the last of the shells into their bodies and sending them crashing to the floor while Temple offered cover fire. Jason grunted as burning pain ripped across his torso. More plasma fire from down the way. More Brutes. More Grunts. Jason growled, he primed and tossed a pair of plasma grenades from the fallen Grunts, then took the precious, little time it allotted him to snatch up a Needler from the ground while Temple moved forward, reloading his battle rifle.

He leveled the Needler and let loose a pink assault. The needles flew across open air and collected in the chest of a Brute near the center of the group. It growled and screamed in pain, then ruptured in a bright mist of pink destruction. The surviving Brutes were scattered and injured. Jason hurled a pair of frag grenades into their midst as he ran up, abandoning the Needler and opting to use his SMG. Temple hurried to join in the fray.

What Brutes and Grunts the grenades didn't kill, he did with their trusty silenced SMGs. Yet again, silence reigned. Jason looked around. Down here, so deep beneath the earth, he was glad to be backed up by Temple. Once again, the thought of being alone struck him as terrifying. As hardened as he considered himself, Jason was honestly uncertain about whether or not he could have done this solo. They hurried on, jogging lightly down the corridor, pressing on through doors. They were close now, close to answers, to Dare, Jason could feel it.

_"__Jason...if you can hear__me, I'm sorry. I should have told you more about the mission, more about me..."_ he heard Dare murmured. Jason scrunched his forehead in confusion.

"What?"

But there was no response. He growled. What the hell was wrong with his radio? He probably should have taken the time to run a diagnostic on it or at least _look_ at it, because by this point he was pretty sure it was broken. It would account for his utter zero radio contact.

"How well do you know the good Captain?" Temple asked curiously.

"I don't...I mean, I don't think I do. We met on the _Say My Name_...but I only saw her at the briefing...I think. Why?" Temple shrugged.

"Just sounds like she knows _you_ is all."

Jason considered this, then mirrored the shrug and suddenly stopped. He stared ahead and spotted an abandoned plasma turret. He grinned, oh yeah, that would help him tear through any Covenant he ran into between him and Dare. He picked it up.

It was heavy, but he could use it. He hurried on, severely slowed down by the additional weight, but still going strong, backed up by Temple's precision firing. They finally came to a large, unique looking room inhabited by a mix of Covenant all milling about at the far end of the room. They were all standing in front of a door that glared red. A locked door. He grinned, gently set down the turret, and hurled the rest of his grenades their way. While they scattered, he quickly picked the turret back up and began mowing down the survivors with Temple. In the end, the turret ran out of energy about the same time he ran out of enemies.

Jason abandoned the turret and approached the door. It suddenly turned green.

_"__Access Granted."_

The door opened. Jason found himself staring down a small, curving hallway. He glanced back the way he had come. Temple stood there, reassuring as any obsidian-clad warrior could be. Jason hurried down the corridor, following it to its end. There was just a simple door there. It didn't open. He tried the access button. Nothing.

"Shit...now what?" Jason growled. Temple chuckled, glancing the way they had come.

"Try knocking."

Jason knocked.


	18. Part II: Perception Is Reality

**Chapter 18  
><strong>_-Perception Is Reality-_

Jason found himself staring down the barrel of a silenced pistol as the door slid open. On the other side of the pistol was Captain Veronica Dare. As expected, her helmet was missing. Clear blue eyes stared at him. Jason took a second to take her in. She looked like hell. Her eyes were red rimmed from no sleep, her hair messy, tied in a rough ponytail. There were a few cuts marring her face, some had only stopped bleeding recently it seemed. Dare's eyes widened.

"Jason!" she cried, lowering the pistol instantly. "Get inside, hurry."

Jason stepped inside and she quickly embraced him, wrapping him tightly in a hug. He hesitated, completely thrown off by the act. When he didn't return the embrace, she let go and stepped back, staring at him in something like confusion and pain.

"Jason...what's the matter?" she asked quietly. "I thought you'd be glad to see me." Jason opened his mouth to respond, and then realized that Temple had yet to enter the room.

"Um, hang on," he said awkwardly.

What the hell was going on? While his memory of the meeting was a little hazy, he didn't remember getting all _that_ familiar with her. And before the meeting, they'd never met. He turned.

"Temple?"

"Who's Temple?" Veronica questioned from behind him.

"He's...well, you should know. He was at the briefing," Jason replied, distracted. Where the hell had he gone? He made his way back down the tunnel, but the ODST was nowhere to be found. Veronica followed him.

"Jason, wait. He was at the briefing? On the _Say My Name_?" she asked, sounding extremely confused. Jason nodded, following the tunnel to its end and stepping back into the room beyond. It remained void.

"Temple!"

"Jason! Keep your voice down!" Veronica snapped, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back into the tunnel. He resisted, but only at first, eventually allowing himself to be led along. Something snapped inside of his head, some critical thing that had been with him since waking up from the crash. Jason began to realize that something was very, deeply wrong.

"Now, what the hell are you talking about, Jason? Someone named Temple at the briefing?" Veronica asked as soon as they were back in the original room.

"Yeah, Corporal Temple...have you heard from any of the others? I haven't heard _anything_. I was afraid Buck might not have made it," Jason replied, his voice becoming distant. The feeling of wrongness continued to build. It was beginning to make him dizzy.

"Jason, I don't know who you're talking about," Veronica replied. He could tell that she was very upset, and trying to contain it. What the hell was going on? Where had Temple gone?

"What do you mean? The team...the _squad_. The people we jumped with. Captain Buck, the leader? The way you two argued, I swear you were an old married couple. Corporal Dutch, our Heavy Weapons Specialist? Hates flying, loves God? Or how about Romeo? Our wise-assed sniper? PFC Mickey?! The guy that loves blowing shit up!? _That_ squad! _Those_ guys! What about _them_?!"

Jason was growing frustrated. How could she not know who he was talking about? They were all together in that darkened briefing room, staring at a big holographic display of the Covenant vessel, preparing to get onboard and take it down...

Or had they?

"Jason, what in God's name are you talking about? I have no idea who those men are! Jason...it's only ever been you and me..._we are the squad_..." Veronica trailed off silently.

"That doesn't make any sense! Why take just one guy with you!?" Jason cried, furious now. He'd been through too much today. Just too much. This was his breaking point. This was why it was so important Temple had been with him. Without Temple, he was positive he would have broken much, much earlier.

So where the _hell_ had he gotten to?

"Because you were the best man for the job! _You_ survived New Jerusalem when everyone else didn't! You were the best! And..." She suddenly stopped, choked up, unable to hold in her anger, and he realized that she was crying. He had been opening his mouth to respond, but her tears shocked him into silence. "And why are you treating me like this? Why are you looking at me like you barely know me?" she whispered. Jason suddenly reached up and took off his helmet.

"...what?" he murmured in reply. "What do you mean?" A sob escaped her.

"What, did it not mean _anything_ to you!?"

"What?! What are you talking about?!" Jason yelled. "I have _no idea_ what you're talking about, Veronica!" Saying her name...he blinked, shook his head. Saying her name...

Something was _definitely_ wrong with him. He started to become extremely confused as new memories began shifting around in his head, flickering. Or were they old memories? Saying her name...it meant something...

"Veronica..." he murmured.

"We had _sex_, Jason! Forget about that?!" Veronica yelled. Jason opened his mouth, then closed it. He opened it again, and suddenly his eyes widened.

He dropped to his knees.

"No...wait...what..." he whispered. Veronica suddenly seemed uncertain, her anger forgotten as she realized how truthful he was being.

"You really _don't_ remember...do you?" she whispered. "What...what happened up there, Jason? Where have you been for the past ten hours? And who is Temple?" she asked. Jason dropped forward onto his hands, his breath coming fast and ragged now. No...

It came to him in a broken montage of snapshots. And he realized it was true. It was all true. Wandering the city, he had never found any _real_ proof of his lost squad. Just his imagination. The only proof he had ever found was Dare's helmet. The night before the drop...he remembered being transferred at the mysterious request of Captain Dare. Arriving aboard the _Say My Name_, heading for Earth. He remembered sitting in the messhall, alone, stricken with a sickness of the soul. _He_ was the sole survivor of New Jerusalem...

All his friends dying. And Veronica coming into the messhall. And sitting across from him. At first, it had been awkward, but slowly the conversation came. And once it did, it didn't stop. They talked for hours, connecting, relating, falling in love...or did they? He remembered going back to her quarters, talking for a long, long time more. And then...the montage of memories came faster. Naked, in bed with her.

The sex was frantic and fast and left them sweaty and breathing hard and lying beneath the sheets, lost in the silence that comes after sex sometimes when words weren't enough and simply being there, touching your lover, was all you could ever ask for...

And...

"No..." he whispered. He stared up at her. She stood over him, she knelt down. Her eyes kind.

"Jason...what's going on? What's wrong with you? What happened out there?" she whispered.

"I don't...I remember...I remember last night. But...I couldn't have..._we_ couldn't have..." he whispered. Her features hardened, abruptly.

"What, you regret it?" she snapped.

"I don't...it doesn't make any sense to me! I know myself! I wouldn't just have a one night stand, and there's no one, no way, no one I could connect to fast enough to have sex with them! Were...were we drinking?"

"No!"

"How?! How could I have done it!? Maybe I finally snapped or gave in..."

Jason trailed off, lost in the memories. He hadn't done it once since Lindsay, hadn't allowed himself to. Because no one would ever be as beautiful or perfect as her. Because no one would ever live up to her memory, locked in his skull. Because he was terrified of what old memories sex, sex with anyone, would dredge up. But he was so broken after New Jerusalem. So lonely and broken. And Veronica...had listened. And, in a way, she kind of reminded him of Lindsay...

"Or maybe you really fell in love with me and you were lonely and hurting, and maybe I was looking for someone to love and I just wanted to make you happy. Maybe we _connected_, Jason. Maybe we _fell in love_. It's not impossible. You know, not all sexual encounters have to be a _one night stand_. You told me you loved me..." she whispered.

Jason opened his mouth, but already he remembered it.

_"__I love you, Veronica..." he whispered as he drifted off to sleep, wrapped up around her nude, slender form._

_"__I love you, too, Jason..." she murmured in reply, squeezing him, settling into his embrace._

Jason groaned. Too much...too much all at once. Veronica, the Squad...the Squad never existed. Trent Temple was a figment of his imagination. He had dreamed up five people and wasted hours hunting through a ruined city looking for them.

_The squad neverexisted_.

He really had been chasing ghosts out there. Ghosts of a broken mind...and he made up an imaginary friend, a man cool, calm and skilled enough to be someone who you could trust. Someone who could help get you through a hard time...even if he wasn't real.

Suddenly, he popped. He knelt back down and puked, then groaned and collapsed sideways. The world faded to darkness...

* * *

><p>"Jason, wake up."<p>

She was shaking him. He gasped awake. The first thing he noticed was the godforsaken taste in his mouth, the second thing he noticed was that his memory hadn't escaped him. He still remembered it all. But now he felt...a little calmer about it. Realizing that you were insane was a difficult thing to grasp.

"How...how could this happen?" he muttered. Veronica helped him up. He wiped his mouth, then spat a few times.

"I think I know," Veronica replied quietly. "I think...you hit your head when your pod hit. Were you passed out for a while?" Jason nodded. "That would explain it. I think what happened is that you were a lot more shaken up over New Jerusalem than even you realized. Are you...a lonely person, Jason?" Again, Jason nodded. He thought about Gage Yevgenny and the man's demand that Jason never stop trying to make friends.

"Your mind must have turned against itself. While you were passed out, you must have dreamed up the squad to solve a few problems. First, I never got a chance to tell you our mission. You had no real purpose. This hallucination gave you a sense of purpose. Find your lost squad. Second, it allowed you to dream up some new friends. And Temple...he was the only one you 'found'? He must have been there to help you from cracking up," Veronica explained. Jason frowned.

"I wandered the streets hunting ghosts...I'm insane," he whispered.

"It's okay...no one has to know. I think you're better now, and it's my call to make. You can still kill and fight, right?" Jason nodded weakly. "Good," she said. She stared at him for a few seconds longer.

"And...us?" she asked. Jason stared into her eyes for a few seconds.

"I...I remember most of the time we spent together. And...you have a good point. You blew away all my expectations, I think. I connected with you so fast, and I was so lonely...I don't want it to have been a one night stand. I want something more."

Veronica smiled. She took a step closer, and stood up a bit, as she was half a foot shorter than him, and pressed her lips against his. He was startled at first, but another memory came back to him. Kissing her, last night...it felt familiar now. He fell into the embrace, wrapping his arms around her, hand still squeezed tight around his SMG, and enveloped her in his grasp.

"I _do_ love you," he said, pulling away from her slightly. She grinned shyly. "Now, what the hell are you doing down here?" Veronica laughed suddenly, the tension gone. They broke away from their embrace.

"Our mission. That structure over there..." she pointed out the window. "It houses the Superintendent. The Dumb AI that controls the city. We have to extract it before the Covenant get their hands on it. Lots of critical data. The only way in is through here, through a hive of Drones...I was waiting for you to get here. I've been waiting a while. Almost went in myself," she explained. Jason smiled.

"Let's get to it."


	19. Part II: From the Ashes

**Chapter 19  
><strong>_-From the Ashes-_

"So...how old are you?" Jason tried to ask casually as they made their way down a winding corridor deeper into the facility. Veronica abruptly turned and looked at him.

"Excuse me?" Jason balked, freezing up.

"Just an innocent question," he replied. Veronica stared at him, squinting, as if scrutinizing him. Finally, she smirked.

"Why do you want to know? Worried I'm too old for you? Just so you know, I told you last night," she said, unhelpfully. Jason remained silent, staring at her, attempting to gauge the meaning of her words. She looked almost...playful now. Finally, her smirk softened into a smile.

"I'm thirty two." Jason's eyes widened briefly.

"Really?"

"Really." He felt himself studying her further. "What, is it showing?" she asked, just a little snappishly.

"No, no. It's just...I've never been with an older woman. I've had...well, let's just say I'm ah, inexperienced in the way of women. I've always kind of wanted to be with an older woman, though." Veronica's smile widened a little wider, taking on a somewhat more wicked undertone.

"Bet I can show you a few things in bed you haven't thought of," she said, and abruptly turned and kept on walking.

Jason lingered for a few seconds, and then hurried along. Oh yeah, this was going to be an interesting relationship. They emerged from the tunnel a few seconds later and stepped out into an abandoned room. He quickly secured his helmet again as he realized the room led to another tunnel, just like before.

And, just like before, up ahead was another dispatch of Covenant. Jason appropriated his pistol from its holster and raised it. He watched her mimic his actions. Together, the pair sniped out half a dozen Grunts heading for them through the dim light. The single Brute leader of the pack only caught on when the last Grunt fell, and suddenly found himself under fire as a pair of ODSTs raced out of the darkness wielding silenced SMGs. Veronica laughed as she reloaded.

"Glad to see you're good in the field and not just in the bed," she said. Jason hesitated, which only caused her to laugh further. A plasma bolt suddenly whipped by their heads. Veronica's face twisted into anger, she raised her gun and blasted away the surviving Grunt.

"I'm busy here!" she shouted at its corpse.

Jason stared at her as she smiled sweetly at him, then turned and began walking deeper into the maze of corridors. He shook his head and hurried to catch up. He would be thinking 'women...' to himself, but no woman he'd met was like her. He just tried to focus on what lay ahead besides her well-padded ass.

They quickly came across another clutch of enemies, this time a bland mixture of Drones and Grunts led by another Brute. The pair immediately opened fire, putting down the Grunts with brief bursts from their SMGs. Jason grabbed his last flame grenade and hurled it into a midst of Drones. They immediately took off and when it landed, it did nothing but burn the ground and some of the nearby equipment.

"You're kidding me!" he cried as he put down another Grunt and turned his attention to the Drones, blasting their position with the rest of his SMG.

"What?" Veronica replied, quickly switching to her pistol.

"That was my _last one_!" he cried. "And dammit, these Drones move too fast!"

Veronica chuckled and head-shoted one of them.

"Lucky," he muttered.

She openly laughed this time. He quickly reloaded his SMG, finding it a better weapon to use for Drones. The Brute wasn't too far off. Jason hissed in pain as he felt a few plasma bolts wash across his chestplate. The heat was intense. He ignored it best he could, gritting his teeth, and turned his attention to the emerging Brute as Veronica finished off the rest of the Drones.

Most of his bullets bounced uselessly off of the thing's shielding as it opened fire on his position with its plasma rifle. He dodged and emptied the clip, then quickly swapped out for his pistol. He emptied that clip and finally took out its shields. Flawlessly stepping in and covering for him, Veronica finished the tall bastard off with a pair of shots to the head. Everything fell silent save for the sound of reloading.

Wordlessly, the pair pressed on. They finally reached the back of the tunnel. Jason allowed Veronica to lead, as she seemed to know where she was going. She led him into a short tunnel that ended in a hole. They both peered down it.

"We're going to have to jump," she commented quietly.

Jason sighed. Jumping sucked. He nodded and went first, dropping into the hole. Feet first into hell...he crashed a good twenty feet to the ground. Jason grunted, attempting to go somewhat limp as not to break anything. As a result, he smashed to the ground and collapsed into a pile of bruised limbs instead of standing.

"You okay?!" Veronica called down.

"Just! Fine!" Jason shouted in reply through gritted teeth.

He picked himself up and narrowly managed to get out of the way before Veronica repeated his action. He offered her a helping hand and hauled her roughly to her feet. Wordlessly, the pair hurried on down the next corridor. They arrived in a large, domed structure. They progressed through it, making quick work of the few Jackals and Grunts that they ran into.

With the corpses of their enemies behind them, the pair made their way through a series of lengthy, domed shaped rooms. Eventually, they came out into a large chasm.

"Things are getting warm..." Dare murmured as they stalked, ducking low, across a bridge that closed the gap between the two sides.

"That a problem?" Jason replied quietly, noting her soft tone. They proceeded through a corresponding door on the opposite side and quickly located an elevator. They began riding it up.

"We must be nearing the Hive," Veronica said ominously.

"Hive?" Jason didn't like the sound of that.

"Drones. They had a _huge_ nest below the city. You haven't noticed the tunnels being filled with them?"

"No...I haven't really had a chance to be underground. I was doing all my wet work on the topside, in the city."

Veronica nodded quietly. The elevator came to a halt and they moved through a lengthy, bright white corridor. Veronica led him out a door immediately to their right into a massive room. Jason slowed to a stop and stared up.

"Oh shit..." he whispered. She was right...they _had_ transformed the underground into a massive hive.

"I know. Stick together, keep quiet," Veronica murmured silently.

Jason nodded and made sure both his weapons were reloaded and ready. There were a lot of Drones around...they began to work their way across a vast gridwork of metal catwalks that spanned over a huge chasm. They went quickly and quietly, ducking low and rushing across the catwalks. They were making pretty good progress, until a clutch of Drones seemed to appear out of nowhere.

"Damn!" Dare cried, opening fire. Jason, on a whim, hurled a plasma grenade into their midst. He watched, his jaw dropping briefly, as the grenade stuck one in the middle, burst, and wiped out the whole lot of them.

"Holy luck!" Veronica shouted.

Jason just laughed. Unfortunately, another clutch of Drones dispatched from somewhere nearby. The pair hurried on, and the next few moments were spent running and gunning. They pounded across the metal walkways, firing as often as they could at the nigh-overwhelming number of Drones. Jason took far too many hits, his body aching with burning plasma as it seeped in through his armor. The whole thing seemed to be dragging on forever. Jason burned through three clips of SMG ammo and seemed to be taking down dozens of the little bastards. Veronica was doing just as good, if not better, but there was so many of them. Jason began to seriously wonder if they were actually going to make it...

Suddenly, they were there. Pushing through a door to a room where a pair of corridors led away, curving, on either side of them. Veronica broke right and Jason followed her, dropping a pair of grenades in the doorway before rushing on. The twin explosions was accompanied by a cacophony of Drone death shrieks. None followed them. They found another hole, considerably more shallow this time, and hopped down it.

"We're almost there," Veronica murmured, attempting to reassure Jason. He just grunted in reply, trying to deal with the searing pain. There was no time for some painkillers. They made their way down the short corridor and stepped out into a vast cavern beyond.

"There it is..." Veronica murmured.

In the darkened cavern, ahead of them, a massive structure was held up by huge support struts. It seemed to just hang off the wall. Almost immediately, Jason noted the Brutes far ahead, at the doorway. Currently, he and Veronica were stationed on a small balcony that overlooked the whole area. Veronica began to attempt to hop down, already judging how best to eliminate the Brutes up ahead, but Jason put a restrictive hand on her shoulder. She looked back at him curiously.

He nodded to her right and she glanced over. Her eyes widened briefly and she snatched up the sniper rifle that seemed almost too conveniently placed.

"The hammer," he whispered. "Take out the one with the hammer first."

Veronica nodded, dropping to one knee and raising the rifle. He watched as she lined up the shot, then squeezed the trigger. The hammer-wielding Brute crashed to the ground. Before the others even knew what was going on, they had bullets through their heads. Veronica waited to see if there were any else, but there had only been three Brutes. She abandoned the rifle, as there was only one bullet left and no spare clips.

They both hopped down and quickly made their way up to the doorway where the corpses lay. They heard a soft click from within the doorway.

_"__Access Granted,"_ the Superintendent calmly stated.

The door opened.


	20. Part II: All That Remains

**Chapter 20  
><strong>_-All That Remains-_

The door slid open and the pair slipped inside. It closed quietly behind them. They walked slowly down the corridor that led deeper still. It was a short, squalid passageway that soon became lit in shifting luminescence. Finally, they came to another doorway. Jason hit the activation button. The pair entered the darkened room slowly, keeping an eye out for threats. But they were alone. Jason took in the dimly lit room as he came into it.

It was nothing but technology, and most of it looked powered down or broken. The Superintendent was shutting down. Ahead of them was a tower of equipment that sparked and smoked. It had been broken by...something. An internal malfunction that had perhaps blown out? Jason squinted. He spotted a hole in the tower, near the midsection. Veronica activated her flashlight on the end of her pistol and pointed it up towards the hole.

Jason squinted as he thought he heard something. A soft, wet clicking sound. He squinted. Something moved in the hole. They kept their guns trained on it, and for a second he thought it might be a Jackal...but no Jackal was so distinctively _pink_. Slowly, he lowered his gun, and put a restrictive hand on Veronica's.

"I've seen this thing before..." he murmured. Yes, he was sure of it. When the Brutes had been strapping it with some sort of explosive.

"We've seen them before, but we've never managed to get this close. They're prisoners...or slaves...either way, they hate the Covenant just as much as we do, if not more. I spotted this one in the tunnels earlier on and started following it. I watched it access comm lines, security cameras, traffic controls...you name it. Eventually...it came here," Veronica murmured. The thing slowly came out of the hole and hovered down towards them.

Jason remained apprehensive, but Veronica lowered her gun further and reached out to gently touch the pink thing. It was like a ball with a bunch of tentacles and a head on the end of a slender neck coming out of it...it kind of looked like a floating, pink, alien turtle.

"What...is it?"

"ONI calls them Engineers. They're some sort of...biological supercomputers. And if I'm right...this one has taken the Superintendent's data and combined it with its own...everything we want to know about the Covenant is in this little guy..." She gently stroked its head, and it twisted slowly with it, seemingly appeased, like a cat or dog. Veronica turned to face him.

"It's crucial that we get this Engineer out of here and somewhere safe. He's the entire reason we came down here. Come on."

She turned and began to make her way back towards the door. Jason felt a sudden soft hum and something akin to static electricity running along his skin. He realized that he was glowing. And so was Veronica.

"What the hell?" he muttered. She looked surprised herself, then she glanced back at the Engineer.

"He must be doing it..." she said.

Jason shrugged. A shield was a shield. It would help him live longer and kill faster. They progressed quickly up and out, coming back to the connecting walkway that held up the data center. Jason nearly blasted away an ODST trooper that was suddenly standing there. He looked weary, wounded and blood-drenched.

"Temple?" he asked softly.

"Who the hell are you?" Veronica asked as she came up.

"Corporal Bower," he replied lethargically. Jason's hopes fell.

"What are you doing here? I was under the assumption the city was deserted," he said, trying to keep himself under control.

"It was. We were told to assist Captain Dare and that this was her location. We secured a Phantom and snuck into the city. Originally, my CO, Sergeant Payton, sent a three-man team down into the tunnels to get to you. I'm all that's left. We have to get to the surface. There rest of my squad is waiting there to escort you all to safety," Bower explained. Jason nodded.

"Excellent. Finally...some help."

That was about the time they heard the jetpack. Jason saw Bower look up silently as a shadow flew over the area. The Brute landed directly in front of Bower. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. He watched the Brute roar, rearing back with its hammer, and slamming it into the side of Bower. The ODST screamed as his ribs were broken and he was sent careening over the side of the walkway. His screams echoed as he disappeared into the vast, dark abyss below.

In a fit of rage, Jason rushed forward. He spotted the hammer from the original Brute that Veronica had sniped. He knelt, snatched it up and stood back up.

"Allow me to return the favor!" he shouted as he, with all his might, swung the Gravity Hammer into the side of the Brute Chieftain.

There was an explosion of raw gravity as the tip slammed into the Brute and sent it flying over the edge to join Bower. Jason was sent flying backwards, the hammer torn from his grasp. It, too, was flung over the side. He crashed to the ground and skidded. He looked up at Veronica as he came to a stop.

"Crap," he muttered. She looked up. More Brutes were coming. She pulled him to his feet.

"Kill them! Don't let them get the Engineer!"

Immediately, she snapped off a plasma grenade. It sailed though the air and connected perfectly with one of the four Brutes that had landed. The Brute cried out as it was vaporized and the others were sent scattering. The two ODSTs quickly took advantage of their good luck and blasted the survivors to hell. Jason finished them off with a well-placed fragmentation grenade.

"Come on, we have to get out of here before more show up," Veronica said, staring at the Engineer. As the pair hurried on, the Engineer floated after them. Occasionally, it would make quiet, echoing, humming sounds, not unlike a whale. They hurried across the walkway back to far wall where a large group of doors resided.

"Let's see if we can find a quicker way up," Veronica said.

They hurried into the nearest door, the Engineer close behind. They reached another hole. Jason growled, this was going further _down_, not _up_. But just before the door closed behind them, he could hear more Brutes. Great. He jumped down the hole and landed with a grunt. His eyes widened as he studied the room beyond. It was littered with sleeping Drones, all of them nesting silently on the ceiling.

_Oh shit..._ he mouthed to Veronica.

Her eyes widened in terror. They both looked at each other, then the Engineer, who began to silently hover ahead of them. They hurried to catch up. Before he knew it, they were out of the Drone Room and into another one. Veronica led them to another door, which turned out to be locked, that read **12 G**.

"Holy crap, we're this much further down?!" Jason cried softly.

"We'll be fine. Stop bitching," Veronica replied. "See, look, the Engineer is even unlocking the door for us."

Jason watched as the little hovering thing hovered up to the doorway and seemingly worked magic on it. After a few seconds, the door slid open. They hurried along through another room plagued by sleeping Drones. By some miracle, they managed to make it through without waking any of the flying bastards a second time.

And, on the other side of the door, lo and behold...

"An elevator," Jason murmured.

"Too bad Bower and his crew didn't use this," Veronica replied.

The Engineer made soft, echoing noises. The trio quickly got into the lift and activated it. The elevator began rising upwards, towards the surface. Jason felt a sudden wave of lethargy surge through him. He staggered, briefly, and leaned on Veronica for support.

"Well, hello there," she said quietly.

Jason chuckled and took his helmet off, then sloppily kissed her cheek. She turned to face him more fully and pressed her lips to his. He lost himself in the moment as the elevator rumbled gently upwards. He was tired...so tired. And hungry, too. Thirsty. And he suddenly found himself lost in lust. It took every ounce of his strength to not try and take her right there in the elevator. Only that and the fact that they could be walking into a legion of Brutes stopped him. He was almost shocked by the emotions and lustful want, had it really been so long...since before last night, at least. As if reading his thoughts, Veronica smiled and said,

"Later, dear. Later."

She kissed him once more and pulled away as the elevator ground to a halt. The doors opened and the trio made their way slowly into a room beyond. Sunlight streamed in through broken windows. Jason pulled his helmet back on.

"My God...I'd nearly forgotten what it looked like," he whispered.

They quickly made their way down a short corridor. The area seemed silent...before they could get to the door, though, it opened up. Jason snapped up his SMG and nearly fired off a few shots. But he instantly recognized the darkly clad ODST that waited for him.

"Captain Dare? Lance Corporal DuPree?" a gruff voice asked. The pair nodded, slowing to a halt. "Sergeant Payton...did my man Bower find you?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, neither him nor his two comrades made it," Jason replied quietly. Payton shook his head.

"It's too bad...but at least we got you out...and what the hell is that?" he asked, nodding to the Engineer that hovered silently behind them.

"Top priority. We need to get it out of the city. Now. I assume you have a ship?" Veronica asked.

"Yep. Unfortunately, it's...quite a ways away," Payton replied.

"Wonderful. Nothing's easy," Jason muttered darkly, leaning up against the nearest wall. Veronica tried to be diplomatic.

"How many are you and how far away?"

"I've got two men outside, Private Shepard and Corporal Cooper. The dropship we have isn't all that far away. We'll get you there," Payton promised. Jason straightened up, regaining control of himself.

"Alright, let's get to it," he said, pushing the lethargy from his voice. Payton nodded and led them outside.


	21. Part II: The Last Hurrah

**Chapter 21  
><strong>_-The Last Hurrah-_

Outside. He was outside once more. And there was golden sunshine. Dawn had come and driven the rain away. As promised, another pair of darkly clad Helljumpers waited for them outside. They stood at attention, faces hidden behind opaque visors. The group came to stand near a broad, messy street. The signs of conflict were everywhere. Not so far in the distance to Jason's right, a huge Covenant energy shield burned brilliantly.

"So, is that the asset?" one of the men, Cooper, asked.

"Yes. It's incredibly important that we get it away from the city," Veronica replied.

"Understood," Payton said. "We've got a route planned out. We'll get you there."

Jason hefted his silenced SMG, eager to get moving. He wanted a break. And a nap. And a bed with Veronica. That would be really nice. He took point with Payton as they began making their way down the street. They headed left and came to an immediate fork in the road. With Cooper and Shepard bringing up the rear and Veronica and the Engineer hanging back, they broke right and pressed onwards.

Immediately, Jason found himself in the shit again. The next area, a huge roundabout, was occupied by Covenant. A hovering scout tower dominated the area, manned by a pair of Jackals. More Jackals, Grunts and Brutes were scattered throughout the area, preparing for the oncoming assault. Even as Jason rushed forward and ducked down behind a derelict vehicle, he felt way better about this battle than the past several dozen. Not only was he no longer alone, he had three more Helljumpers with him. He peered over the hood of the vehicle and opened fire. The gun spoke in his hands, rattling out silenced rounds.

The others helped Jason make quick work of the local Covenant. They shot the Jackals out of the tower, exploded Grunt methane tanks and overloaded Brute shields. Jason felt almost useless as the last Grunt fell out of the watchtower, the back of its head blown off with a well-placed pistol shot. He had spent the last eight or so hours doing all the work himself, for the most part. It felt almost...easy now.

No, no. He couldn't let himself slip, let himself lose focus and get lax like that. That's how soldiers died in the field. He paired up with Payton as the Sergeant broke right while Shepard and Cooper went left, both curving around the huge roundabout to make sure that everything was truly dead. Veronica and the Engineer hung back.

"Don't worry," Payton said. "We aren't far now."

Once the area was made safe, the group gathered on the opposite side of the roundabout. The Helljumper squad led the way, with Jason and Veronica drifting behind with the Engineer. While they navigated the desolate, ruined streets of New Mombasa, Jason found himself drifting into the dark depths of his mind. He still couldn't believe that the Squad had never existed. He had dreamed up five individuals, given them names and faces and personalities. Voices and histories and eye colors. He'd had conversations with one of them, and heard his painfully bitter tale of death...

Jason had never been one for creativity. He'd never written poetry or short stories or novels...hell, he'd never been very good at writing assignments in school. While he enjoyed reading, it was more to just take his brain off of things than anything else. And while Jason was an advocate of serious, monogamous relationships, most of his imagination was dedicated to imagining what attractive women looked like naked and would do with him alone in a bedroom. But he was insane...although sane enough to _realize _it.

That counted for something, right?

With those last few thoughts, Jason glanced over at Veronica. She was beautiful, in a unique kind of way. While he had always preferred redheads, her blonde hair didn't bother him. It was actually very nice. That, combined with her pale skin and _fantastic_ body made her all around pretty damned attractive. While her attitude might be a little abrasive, and the age thing still threw him off slightly, he was certain he could make this work. Their relationship was already off to a rocky start, though, what with the fact that he had repressed their first sex together.

"See anything you like?" Veronica asked, noticing his intent gaze and smiling at him.

"Lots," Jason replied. Veronica's grin widened.

"With that darkened visor, I have no idea where your eyes are wandering."

"I'm staring at your chest. But, honestly, your armor leaves too much to the imagination."

"Well, I will be certain to give your poor imagination a break once we get some downtime," Veronica said. Jason was glad for the helmet, he was still 'innocent' enough to feel heat rushing to his cheeks at that last comment. He wondered if the others had heard that.

The group came to a somewhat enclosed area, towards a structure. They hadn't run into anymore Covenant so far. Jason wondered if they'd get a clear run to their pickup zone. He doubted it, but a man could hope. Payton activated the door and pointed his gun within, waving Cooper in. The Corporal moved in, checking left, then right.

"Clear," he called back. The others moved into the darkened room beyond.

"There's an elevator at the end of this corridor," Payton said as he broke left, staring down the length of the hallway he'd stepped into.

The group moved swiftly and silently until they reached a pair of sealed double doors at the end. Shepard let his gun hang by its sling and knelt by a small control pad built into the doors. He tapped it. Nothing happened.

"Shit," he muttered.

He tapped it once more, then began to press several buttons. A soft chirping sound caught his attention. He glanced over his shoulder. The Engineer had hovered up behind him, and was waiting for him to move. It let out a low echoing noise, not all that dissimilar from a whale.

"Uh...okay," Shepard murmured. Jason watched as the Engineer raised one pink tentacle, and suddenly the doors opened.

"Well...son of a bitch," Payton murmured with a smile.

"This thing is important for a reason, I guess," Cooper replied. They all piled into the elevator and hit the **up** button.

"How far are we from our ride?" Veronica asked.

"About four stories. My man Gallow is piloting."

As if on cue, the elevator doors opened and brilliant sunshine spilled in. Jason heard the subtle rumbling of a nearby Phantom. Sure enough, as he stepped out, he spotted it hovering a good five meters off the ground.

"Let's move, people!" Payton shouted. As the group began rushing across the top of the building they were on, an intense sound ripped through the air and the entire structure shuddered.

"Holy God!" Veronica cried. Jason looked up as a vast shadow fell over them and realized what the problem was. A Covenant Cruiser had just dropped in. Even worse, several more were backing it up.

"Jesus, they're invading the city!"

Jason was in awe, he had never seen such power...not since New Jerusalem, at least. Jason shook his head, focusing. They needed to leave. _Now_. He gathered with the others beneath the Phantom, in the blue beam that allowed them access. Payton and Shepard were already aboard. Jason watched Cooper rising into the ship, already halfway up the beam. He paused to help Veronica push the Engineer into the beam, as it seemed reluctant to do so. But it hovered up silently when they pushed it enough.

"Alright, let's get the hell out of this city," Veronica said, smiling at Jason.

She took his hand as they entered the beam together and hovered upwards. Once they stood within the purple belly of the Phantom, Jason felt his legs give out. He sat with his back to the rounded wall, half tugging Veronica down with him.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine. Just tired," Jason replied. Veronica smiled and sat down next to him.

"Well, you can relax. We did it. We won. It's over. For now, at least."

Jason nodded. He looked out the side of the Phantom, which was open to the world. He took off his helmet, setting it down next to him, revealing his sweaty, pale face. He ran his hands over his head, knowing that he'd need to shave it again. Outside, the city of New Mombasa burned. Covenant Cruisers, dozens of them, darkened the sky.

They were digging.


	22. Part III: Since Then

_**Part Three: Floodgates**_

**Chapter 22  
><strong>_-Since Then-_

One month had passed.

After New Mombasa, after all the killing and rainy streets and mind bending-madness...it still wasn't over. Not by a long shot. The Covenant invaded Earth. Specifically, Africa. It was madness. The battle was constantly shifting.

Jason had spent that month in orbit and on Earth. Mostly on Earth. He helped draw lines in the sand, ran raids against Covenant strongholds, rescued downed Pelicans and executed as many of the alien bastards as he could.

Things changed, too. Big things. In a shocking turn of events, the Elites left the Covenant and came to the aide of Humanity. Jason encountered few of them, as they were giving most of their military prowess to stabilizing the orbital situation. Every few days, after constant fighting, he managed to catch a ride back up to the _Say My Name_ and catch a night with Veronica of frantic, sweaty sex, long showers and twelve hours of sleep.

Everyone was still holding their breath, waiting for the Master Chief to come back.

It was surprisingly easy to cover up what had happened down in New Mombasa. Jason and Veronica were the only two who knew about Jason's mental break and hallucinations. His crash had knocked his armor about quite a bit and completely disabled any recording devices. At one point, they'd checked the data dump that the Engineer had given them after it had absorbed Virgil. What little footage or recordings of Jason there were offered no evidence or insight into his insanity. And besides, the technicians could care less about those files.

Veronica and Jason made their reports, but the Brass weren't too interested in the details. For his trouble, Jason was promoted to Corporal.

It felt good. _He_ felt good. Great, even. He didn't see Temple anymore, or any of the others. He was firmly rooted back in reality...but the fear of insanity did hover at the back of his mind.

And he wondered if he would ever crack again.

* * *

><p>"No, you are <em>not<em> sending him back out there. Especially not alone."

Jason blinked as he came awake. Veronica was whispering fiercely. For a second, he wasn't sure where he was. He'd been dreaming of the neon city, of rainfall and the broken shells of bombed-out buildings. He'd been in New Mombasa again, alone and forsaken...

"I don't _care_. Find someone else to do it. He just got back off a four day stint. He's exhausted."

Jason shifted slightly. He checked the time. Not but six hours ago he'd sat in on the interrogation of the Engineer. By Avery Johnson. It had been extremely entertaining. Afterward, Veronica had all but dragged him off to their quarters and he'd gotten quite a bit of exercise before crashing headlong into sleep.

"What's going on?" Jason asked, sitting up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Veronica turned from the comms screen she was sitting at. She looked pissed off and an ONI official, some brass from high up, was on the other side. Veronica was wearing a white robe that showed off her figure.

"They want to send you back," she replied bitterly.

Jason sighed, he just knew it. Slowly, he pulled himself out of bed, finding some boxers and pulling them on. By the time he sat down in front of the screen, it was clear that the brass was extremely uncomfortable.

"What's the story?" he asked, cracking his neck.

_"__Not all that different from your mission in New Mombasa. There's this military AI in Voi. Smart AI. It was coordinating the war effort there, only the area it was in got overrun. In a surprisingly intelligent, but potentially disastrous act, the AI split itself into five fragments across Voi. Right now...things aren't looking too pretty there. It's a warzone. Chaos. We need someone experienced to get in there and collect the fragments. If you do this, and do it right, DuPree, we'll promote you to Sergeant...and continued overlooking your, ah, relationship with the good Captain,"_ the ONI operative stated.

Veronica bristled.

"Oh, don't you _even dare_-" Jason touched her thigh, attempting to calm her.

"Veronica..." He looked at the screen. "Look...I'll do it, okay. Just give me an hour to get ready, and have my usual arsenal brought to my pod." The ONI brass nodded.

_"__Thank you, DuPree. Dare. A full briefing will be made available in your pod's database."_ And then he was gone. Veronica sat back and fumed.

"Bastards," she snapped. "Thinking they can go around, pulling this shit..."

"Honey...they need me on this," Jason replied, trying to calm her. He stood and flipped the lights on, squinting as his eyes adjusted to it. "Now, we can sit here and argue about the assholes who run ONI...or you can help me wake up in the shower."

If there was one thing that Jason discovered about Veronica Dare, it was that she was hungry for sex. He wasn't sure if it was how rarely they actually got to see each other, or if it was just how she was, but she was _always_ up for it. She'd even pretty much forced him to do her in a supply closet last week.

She grinned darkly, her anger forgotten, and headed for the bathroom.

* * *

><p>When Jason entered the drop pod bay, he felt a lot better. Or, at the very least, he felt a lot more put together. He was showered, head and face freshly shaved. He had on a fresh uniform and his armor had been restored to its former glory. They had his arsenal laid out for him on a table, as well as a nervous looking technician standing next to it.<p>

"So, why're you here?" Jason asked as he inspected his gear. He stared down the barrel of silenced SMG, zeroing the sights.

"Well, there's been an addition to your armor," the orange-suited tech replied, fidgeting nervously. Jason slung the SMG and picked up the silenced pistol, holding it away from him, staring down the barrel.

"And that is?" He holstered the pistol, then began to slip the extra magazines, fragmentation grenades and spare medpak into place on his armor.

"There's a high-speed receiver built into your standard database. It will be able to automatically download the AI fragments once you get within proximity. A small bar will appear in the lower, right portion of your HUD. We've been able to determine that each fragment is of equal size, so they'll all take the same amount of time. All you have to do is hang around until that bar is full," the tech explained.

"Is that all?"

"Yeah...just radio Command for a pickup once you're done. They'll have a Pelican ready to pick you up at a moment's notice and it'll ship you back up here." Jason nodded and the tech quickly left the room, leaving him and Veronica alone. As he finished securing everything, Veronica asked,

"What's this?"

And reached out towards his armor. He glanced down, and felt a cold hand grip his heart as she pulled Lindsay's photograph out of its appropriate place. He quickly grabbed it back and pushed it back into the pocket, locking it down tight.

"It's nothing," he replied quickly. Veronica looked up at him.

"Jason...who is she?" she asked quietly. Jason tried to make a smile, but it dissolved into a broken frown.

"Honey...Veronica...I...I can't talk about it. Not right now," he said softly.

Veronica opened her mouth, and he could tell there was anger building there, she was going to snap at him. That was one of her problems: she had a quick temper, too quick. He'd done his best to adapt to it, but they still got into fights over stupid shit.

But she bit back her response, merely forcing herself to smile.

"Okay," she said, and kissed him. He kissed her hard and wrapped her in a hug. "Come back to me safe." She always said that before he had to drop back down into hell. He managed a half smile.

"I always do," he replied quietly.

Veronica touched his face, once, then stepped away. Jason pulled his helmet on. He made one more check of his armor and gear, then stepped into the waiting drop pod. He stared at Veronica, hesitating only briefly before closing the door. With one, final glance through the small window into the launch bay, Jason activated the pod.

And dropped feet first into hell.


	23. Part III: Feet First

**Chapter 23  
><strong>_-Feet First-_

Jason reviewed the information while Earth's atmosphere burned around him. He was headed back down. How many trips had he made like this in just the past month alone? Too many pods wasted for his own personal use, at least he felt. But there was no arguing with how positively badass it looked coming crashing down in a one-man pod from the heavens. And any Marines or fellow ODSTs or even civilians he came across were always happy to see him.

The AI had transmitted itself to five random locations. They were all pretty far from each other and, when looking at a topographical map of Voi, Jason realized that there was no clear place to begin. Well, except for the place they were launching him. They said it had the lowest concentration of Covenant activity.

Jason studied the locations themselves. The first was a warehouse storage terminal in an abandoned warehouse district. The second was in an underground parking garage, in a public access terminal. The third was in a private residence. The fourth was in a military outpost currently being contested by the Covenant. The final was at a dockyard. What a fun collection of places to go. Jason sighed and fought the urge to rub his temples. His headaches, which he picked up on New Jerusalem, came and went.

Provided he didn't die, he figured he should have this finished inside of fifteen hours. That would be quite a long day. He hoped the ground forces kept each other busy and out his way. Jason paused at the callousness of that thought, then finally shrugged it off. Too much. He'd been doing too much lately, without much of a break. Although, he admitted regretfully, he was getting much more of a break than some, hell, even most, of the other Marines and ODSTs. He got to hot sex, food, showers and beds every three or four days.

Mostly thanks to Veronica. She was high up in the ONI hierarchy. Not an easy task. Her years of service, ass-kicking and damned-headed determination granted her at least a few perks. According to her, it had been a while since she'd taken a lover. Jason wasn't sure how to feel about that, so he tried to feel nothing and just enjoy their relationship as it was. Uncomplicated. For the moment. He was afraid to see what would happen if the war ever ended.

Jason's thoughts were jolted to a halt as the pod came crashing in through the top of an abandoned warehouse. It smashed through two stories before finally coming to rest in the basement. For several seconds, there was nothing but the sound of debris falling, and Jason was terrified that the whole thing was going to come down on him and bury him alive. But, when everything was quiet and all that was left was his heavy breathing and the sounds of his pod dying, he still saw sunshine and managed to pop the door open.

Jason double checked his gear, then activated the first of five nav markers. At least when he was wandering around _this_ city he'd know where the hell he was going. That thought touched on his brief stint with mental illness, which made him uncomfortable, so Jason pushed his way out of the pod and began climbing out of the rubble.

He found himself in a broad basement, one vast room stuffed with ancient, dusty steel crates that held unknown things. No windows, everything was dismal and dreary and he wondered if anyone had been down here in years.

Motes of dust floated in the sunshine and for an extremely brief second, Jason was stricken by the conviction that they weren't dust, but, in fact, tiny, tiny kittens that floated on the air.

"What the hell?" he mumbled, shaking his head, which only offset the headache even more.

He groaned, resisted the urge to shoot up some painkillers and began to make his way towards the far wall. There, he found a stairwell that led up to the ground floor and hustled up it. He was lucky, he realized, as he came to the surface. For once, his pod had been extremely accurate. He'd landed exactly where he'd meant to: directly next door to the warehouse containing the first fragment of the AI. Sometimes, luck took a liking to him.

Others...not so much.

Jason hurried to a side door, easing it open with the tip of his SMG. He peered left, then right, and found the alleyway empty. He crossed it and pushed his way into the adjacent warehouse. He found it equally empty and less ruined than the last one. The nav marker pulsed gently: he was close. Jason found a ramp leading up to a catwalk that ringed the interior, serving as an impromptu second story. Jason crept along it, listening for the sounds of combat, but he couldn't hear anything. For once, intel seemed to be on the money: this part of the city was dead.

Jason found what he was looking for in the form of a terminal in the back of a long abandoned office. This one showed signs of use, at least. Jason poked around while the download began. He found a tipped-over chair, a half-drunk cup of cold coffee, a collection of chewed upon doughnuts. He wondered about what it must be like to have a life where the majority of your day _wasn't_ all about killing aliens and trying to stay alive. It must be great...and really boring. Jason wasn't an idiot, (at least he hoped), he knew that he couldn't hope to have any semblance of a normal life now, not after years of killing to stay alive.

A soft beep informed him that the download had finished. He sighed. It had taken five minutes. Five minutes was a long time when you were under attack. He could only hope that his time with Price had taught him enough to remain stealthy.

Jason made his way back down through the warehouse. His next nav marker was over two kliks away. He sighed again. Next on the list was the parking garage. Jason left the warehouse, making sure that the street in front of it remained clear. Once he was certain, he began making his way down it, towards his next goal. He began to wonder about the intelligence of going this mission alone. Last time he went alone, well...

He'd always know that he was a little nuts. Hell, it was in the job description for being an ODST. But there was a big difference between the kind of nuts that made you take suicide mission after suicide mission, and the kind that made you hallucinate. One was an asset, the other was a liability. As far as he could remember, Jason was pretty sure that he didn't have any mental disorders. In fact, there was nothing really all that strange about his life before what happened last month in New Mombasa. And besides, he'd been screened multiple times throughout his military career. If he were nuts, they'd definitely catch it then, right?

Then again, Humanity _was_ at the precipice of extinction. Especially now, with the Covenant invading Earth. They were probably reaching, scraping the bottom of the barrel. But Jason was an ODST, but you had to be crazy to be one of those...

Jason sighed and shook his head. This line of reasoning wasn't getting him anywhere. And besides, there were Covenant over there. Jason slid smoothly into an alleyway as he heard the first wheezing of a Grunt. He moved down the alley, his SMG ready, and navigated between buildings until he had a good view of the Covenant patrol. There were six of them, two Brutes backed up by four Grunts.

This would be easy. Jason had dealt with crap like this on a regular basis for the past month. He sighted the nearest Grunt, aimed for that little part of their methane tank that was most susceptible to rupturing and let fly the bullets. The result was spectacular. The Grunt was jerked forward into the others, bowling them over, before detonating in a cloud of green that quickly turned blue-white as its grenades went with it.

The resulting series of explosions vaporized the Grunts and one of the Brutes. The other was sent sprawling across the street where it crashed into a derelict car, severely denting the door. Its shields extinguished, Jason quickly eliminated the thing with a pair of shots to its skull. After retreating a few feet and waiting to see if anyone else would come running to investigate, Jason eventually emerged from the alleyway.

He remained alone.

Policing up what few plasma grenades could be salvaged, Jason couldn't help but smile. It felt good to be back, even if he'd been doing this for almost a month solid. Sex and sleep were great and all, but...well, nothing could quite compare to killing aliens.


	24. Part III: Elite Encounter

**Chapter 24  
><strong>_-Elite Encounter-_

Underground.

Jason didn't particularly enjoy it, but at least he didn't feel so damned exposed down here. Voi was a real warzone. He could hear the almost constant staccato of gunfire and explosions in the background as he drew closer to the fighting. He'd only encountered a handful of Covenant patrols, all of them dispatched with equal ability.

At this point in his life, Jason was beginning to worry even himself. He was good at killing. _Really_ good. What if he actually did go crazy? How difficult would he be to take down if he lost it? Jason forced that train of thought off its tracks and paid attention. So far, the underground parking garage was abandoned. But that didn't mean it would keep. Covenant seemed to have the ability to get into everywhere.

The place above had obviously been hit hard. It looked as if Wraith Tanks had had their way with the buildings and as a result half the parking garage was collapsed. Jason prayed that the terminal was still intact, but figured that four fifths of an AI was almost as good as a whole AI. Anyway, the path looked clear so far.

Distantly, something made a noise. The sound echoed out to him from behind and he stopped and spun, SMG to his shoulder, ready to launch into a frenzied assault. There was nothing visible, but he held the pose for a few additional seconds, trying to reason out whether it had been just a piece of debris settling into place or the sound of an enemy shadowing him. He continued hunting for any clue of threat, and finally decided that it was nothing. He turned back around and resume his long march, past derelict cars and the occasional corpse.

Jason thought about his relationship with Veronica, and what he might actually do if the war actually did end and Humanity came out on top. Or, at the very least, not dead. Earth was under attack. Things looked grim. But the Elites were on their side now, so that certainly helped tip the scales. One way or the other, Jason figured that the war was going to end soon. And if, somehow, someway, he survived and Humanity was the victor, where would that leave him? He supposed there would be quite a large amount of 'clean up', the killing off of surviving Covenant on Earth and any other Human colonies still left.

But after that? Well, there would certainly be enough rebuilding to go on for a lifetime, probably two. But Jason wasn't an engineer. Hell, most of those who were still alive weren't. How many thousands, tens of thousands, of soldiers would be leftover, out of a job? He supposed the only thing that was left was to remain vigilant, just in case the Covenant or whoever came to start up a new war.

The nav beacon began to pulse gently. Jason realized that he was close. He located what he was looking for in the form of a public access terminal nestled at the back of a particular grim and dreary, half-collapsed parking garage. It had been a close thing, too. A particularly large chunk of concrete had fallen almost on top of the terminal. Jason found a position to hide out behind an abandoned car within distance and let the download run its course.

He continued thinking about Veronica. She was great, she really was. She was his first since Lindsay, and, in a way, Jason had been extremely lucky. Getting with someone again meant reopening old wounds on his soul best left sealed shut. But he'd dealt with it, quietly, slowly, over the course of his time on Earth over the past month. In the early hours of the morning, when he was trying to sleep but couldn't, or on those long, hard slogs where there was no fighting going on, or on long, boring-assed guard duty shifts...he'd thought about his dead fiancee. And, while it still hurt to remember her, it wasn't as soul-crushing as before.

Which gave him time to focus on Veronica. While the sex was fantastic and having a warm body to hold in the night was comforting, Jason was legitimately worried about what would happen when he didn't have to rush off and shoot things every other day. What would they talk about? And that wasn't even considering her ONI rank. Would the tables be turned, soon, and _she_ be the one called away for days or weeks or even months at a time? Would their relationship be able to sustain itself, long distance?

Jason, quietly and in his own mind only, worried that the answer was no. Because Veronica was also more than a little neurotic. She was very jealous, and he could tell that she was trying, but would it hold up? People were who they were. More often than not, you just didn't change. And relationships either crumbled or fell into passive acceptance given enough time. Sure, everything was fiery now, but when the flames died down into the embers of security rather than passion, comfort rather than excitement, would they have what it took?

A soft chime informed Jason that the second shard had been collected. He sighed quietly and began retracing his steps back through the garage. He supposed he would just cross that bridge when he came to it...and probably not like it at all during. But that was the future, he tried to tell himself. And the future was far away. He should just enjoy what he had now. Jason was beginning to remember why being single was a lot more, well, maybe not fun, but safe. Right as he began to make his final approach to the surface, his radio crackled to life.

_"__This is Major Enzo 'Enslom, I am under heavy fire and require assistance from any nearby friendly units!"_

The voice was deep, thick and undoubtedly belonged to an Elite. Jason hesitated briefly. His encounter with Elites had been brief at best, running into them occasionally during the fighting over the past month. So far, they had proved themselves formidable foes and trustworthy allies. But...there was still that ingrained fear and hatred that came from years and years of fighting against them.

Jason shook the fear and anger response away and responded.

"This is Corporal Jason DuPree, responding to your call, Enzo." He hurried up out of the garage. Already he could hear the sounds of combat. "I'll be there in a minute."

He dashed up the exit ramp, back into the dusty daylight, and immediately spotted the conflict in the form of plasma fire jetting into the air. He hurried down the street, priming a plasma grenade as he rounded the corner of an anonymous building. He spotted Enzo, an Elite encased in metallic crimson armor, ducking down behind a collection of ruined, burning vehicles. He was under fire by a Covenant patrol, larger than what Jason had been dealing with. He hurled the plasma grenade the second he laid eyes on the Ghost being manned by a Brute. It was doing the most damage. The grenade stuck fast to the Brute's chest, and consumed both it and the Ghost in blue-white hell. Jason opened fire with his SMG as he ran for cover.

He managed to put down a few Grunts and a Jackal before ducking down behind a flipped over car. Jason popped up, taking precision shots at the Grunts that were fleeing. He wanted to get them down and out of the game before turning his attention to the Brutes, who were mostly being kept at bay by Enzo and his Carbine. The big Elite appeared to be a great shot. By the time Jason finished mopping up the Grunts, Enzo had worn down the shields of a Brute, but expended his magazine in doing so. Jason provided that helpful final headshot.

It wasn't long before the patrol was reduced to a pile of fresh, bloody corpses. When the bullets stopped flying and it was apparent they were alone save for themselves, the two warriors came out from their respective hiding places.

Jason studied the Elite before him. Neither was saying anything. The Elite was huge, easily having an extra two and a half feet on Jason. Its armor made it look bigger than it really was, and there were multiple different colors of blood splashed across it. Not to mention the dents, dings and scorch marks. Enzo had definitely seen a hell of a lot of combat. Jason finally decided to get the ball rolling, an Elite friend would definitely be a lot of help in his mission.

"So...what happened to you?" he asked finally. Enzo seemed to hesitate, then spoke up.

"I was on my way deeper into the city...your Demon has returned and is making his way into Voi to take on the bastard Truth. But my vessel was assaulted and shot down. I was the only survivor. I was forced to flee from the Brutes and their patrols. That's what I was doing when you found me," he explained in his deep voice.

Jason had made an interesting discovery over the past month: Elites were really interesting to listen to. Not only for their ridiculously deep voices, but also the manner in which they spoke. Jason was surprised, however, to hear that Master Chief was back. They'd been waiting on him for quite a while.

"Well, Enzo, I'll be honest. I think Master Chief can handle himself...but _I_ could certainly use your help. I'm on a mission," Jason stated. Enzo regarded him curiously, then broke into something that resembled a smile.

"What kind of mission?"

"Walk with me, and I'll explain."


	25. Part III: Vehicular Manslaughter

**Chapter 25  
><strong>_-Vehicular Manslaughter-_

Jason was already beginning to like Enzo. He'd explained the nature of the situation to the big Elite while leading him towards the next nav marker. It was pointing them towards a house, and by now, they were making their way into what passed for a residential zone in Voi. They'd encountered an increasing number of Covenant patrols and Jason was glad to see that Enzo was just as good at stealth as he was. Maybe more.

They were currently making their way across backyards, past derelict swing sets and abandoned collections of toys. Enzo was telling him a story, quietly, to pass the time.

"I was on what you Humans refer to as Delta Halo," he confided.

"What was it like?" Jason replied. He'd heard of the Halos, and of the Flood. Enzo looked grave.

"It was...brutal. I lost many brethren there, combating the Parasite. When the Rebellion came...it was easy for me to make the transfer. My faith was already crumbling...it had never been very strong to begin with. When I came of age, I began to question the Prophets...but not openly. Only in my mind. To do so is death in the Covenant," Enzo explained.

The story as all too familiar to Jason, who, when he was younger, read up on many religions and religious crusades that required complete and utter faith. It creeped him out.

"When did you hear about the Rebellion?"

This was something that had interested him greatly when he'd heard about it. The Elites he had talked to about it seemed only too happy to relay their split from the Covenant. A good sign, as far as he was concerned.

"I was on a frozen field, holding out against the Parasite. There were already talks amongst my peers, and, of course, the Brutes had been entrusted with the security of our leaders. That was the root, the seed, that caused the rebellion. The spark that ignited it, however, was when word came that the Brutes had begun opening fire on the Elites. Their betrayal cost them dearly..." Enzo fell silent as they heard the unmistakeable sound of a Banshee. Enzo's head snapped up. He and Jason took cover underneath a porch.

"Wonderful," Jason growled.

They waited for it to pass and then hurried along. As they pressed on down the backyards, it became obvious that they were wandering into enemy territory. Jason carefully crept up to the street to get a view and spotted a Covenant blockade at an intersection. It looked heavily fortified.

"Now what?" he mumbled.

"We have one of two choices," Enzo stated calmly, reaching for the plasma pistol on his belt. "Stealth or combat. Which would you prefer?" Jason considered it. An ODST and an Elite against a big group of Covenant? He shrugged.

"Ah hell, let's go combat," he replied. Enzo grinned darkly.

"I was hoping you would say that."

He raised the plasma pistol, charged it and then fired off a shot as the Banshee made another pass. It immediately lost power and began to plummet towards the earth. Jason barely managed to get out of the way as it hit dirt and carved a deep groove in the backyard they were in. Enzo stalked up to it, pried it open and shot the Brute manning it twice in the head before yanking the body out.

"I shall provide cover from the sky!" Enzo called as he climbed into the Banshee, ignoring the blood.

Jason grinned as he watched it take off. Yeah, he was definitely beginning to like this Elite. He began making his way down the backyards until he had reached the intersection. Already, he could see that Enzo had garnered the attention of a trio of rival Banshees. As Jason scouted the competition, he saw one of the Banshees explode and fall flaming from the sky. When he spotted the Wraith Tank, he tossed together his plan.

Jason hurled all of the grenades he had on him into the midst of the Covenant and bolted for the Wraith. A pair of his plasma grenades connected to a hovering sniper tower and exploded, sending pieces of flaming debris raining down all over the outpost. The Tank was unmanned and, in all the confusion, Jason easily boarded and activated it. He immediately opened fire, blasting a group of Brutes into nothingness.

It was about the time he fired the third shot that the remaining Covenant began to get their shit together. They returned fire, took cover and began to throw grenades. Jason fired a fourth time, completely demolishing a group of Jackals attempting to form a shield wall. He saw something bright flying through the air and, a few seconds later, felt the Tank shudder violently.

"Crap," he muttered.

This wouldn't last forever. He fired a fifth ball of plasma, demolishing a pair of Ghosts that the Brutes were trying to get into. Another plasma grenade attached to the Tank and exploded. Several of the screens began to turn red and flicker. Jason growled. He fired off another shot, sending Brutes flying, then got out of the Wraith. As he dropped to the ground and began running, the Tank exploded in a brilliant show of sparks and blue-white fire. The blast sent him sprawling to the ground.

He rolled over, and screamed. A Banshee was falling from the sky, half-destroyed, directly towards him. Jason rolled and narrowly avoided the twisted, burning metal. As he crawled to his feet, he barely managed to jump back out of the path of a charging Brute. He turned his SMG on it and stitched a bloody line up its back until he split its skull open. The big alien crashed to the ground mid-charge.

Jason turned his attention to the remainder of the Covenant. They were scattered, some of them running. He began mowing them down, reloading his SMG and putting down Grunts and Jackals alike. By the time he'd finished cleaning them up, he'd scooped up another few grenades and found an untouched Ghost among the chaos. Mounting up, he noticed that the skies were clear: Enzo had demolished all the Banshees. And come out on top.

_"__More Brutes ahead! I'll cover you from the skies!"_ Enzo cried over their comm link.

Jason responded positively and gunned it, bringing the Ghost down the street and towards another group of Covenant. He opened fire on their position and when he came within plowing distance, he gunned it, kicking in the boosters.

The Ghost smashed through a group of Grunts and Jackals, sending them flying like ninepins. He brought it around just in time to see a pair of Brutes being sent flying by a fuel rod round from Enzo's Banshee. He laughed easily, bringing the Ghost forward. There really was nothing like this kind of business.

With Enzo's help, he managed to mop up the resistance with relative ease, only taking a few stray shots that pinged off his armor. When all of the Covenant in the area were dead, Enzo brought the Banshee down, saying that it had been severely damaged and to continue flying it would be to risk death unreasonably. Jason couldn't argue with that. As he approached the house with the nav marker pulsing above it, he rolled over a knocked down supply crate with his foot. It held exactly what he was hoping it would hold.

"Here," he said, passing a beam rifle to Enzo.

The Elite accepted it, slinging his carbine. Jason had had a lot of experience with sniping, and wished he found himself in more instances to put it to use. Being up close and personal was fun and all, because, hey, at this point, after years of killing and not dying, you had to find _some_ fun in what you did. But picking bad guys off from a distance was its own form of pleasure.

He and Enzo kicked their way into the house and hunted around for a few moments before they located the shard. It had been tucked away into a personal terminal on the second story, in someone's bedroom. It began downloading when he came within range and Jason approached the window, staring out it, down at the aftermath of the battle. He spotted a lone Jackal on approach, raised his rifle and fired off a shot.

The Jackal's head was torn in half in a plume of blood and it collapsed to the ground, its shield extinguishing. Jason kept the beam rifle raised and ready for another minute before decided that either the Jackal was alone or its friends had been scared off. He kept watch out one window while Enzo stood at the other.

"So...how'd you get to Earth?" Jason asked.

"As I said before, I was deeply entranced in the snowy fields against the Parasite. It took...quite a while to get out. But help eventually did come for us. What few were left were picked up by a Phantom piloted by Elites who had heard our signal. And some do recognize my name..." Enzo trailed off.

"Why's that?" Jason asked. Enzo was silent for several more seconds, and Jason realized it was because Enzo had done things he didn't want to hear about. Well, that made enough sense. He decided not to push the issue.

There was a soft chime, indicating that the third shard had been successfully downloaded.

"Alright, let's move on," Jason said, heading out of the room.

Enzo followed silently. They made their way down and out of the house, coming to stand on the street of broken corpses and vehicles. The next nav marker appeared, another three kliks away, at a military outpost. Jason wondered if he'd actually have some damned help this time around.

They began to set off towards it when an enormous explosion rocked the city.


	26. Part III: Outpost

**Chapter 26  
><strong>_-Outpost-_

A wave of dust shot down the street and for a second, Jason was terrified that he was going to be consumed by a wall of fire from a nuke. He let his breath out slowly as he noted the absence of the telltale mushroom cloud that, even after centuries, still remained the trademark of a nuke. He did, however, spot a pall of black smoke in the distance. His radio crackled to life.

_"__Be advised Corporal DuPree that Flood have hit Voi. I repeat, Flood are attacking Voi. Also be advised that the Master Chief has returned to Earth and is in Voi."_ He didn't recognize the voice, probably some tech from the _Say My Name_.

"Thanks for the heads up," Jason managed to reply, still stunned by this revelation. Enzo stared at him curiously.

"What is it? More Brutes?" Jason shook his head gravely.

"Worse," he replied. "We've got Flood incoming."

Enzo's expression turned ashen, then hardened. He abandoned the beam rifle in favor of a plasma sword which had been clipped to his belt. He activated it with a sharp gesture.

"Parasite we shall hunt," he growled. Jason grinned. He was happier than ever to have the Elite by his side.

"Come on, let's hurry. I've heard the stories of how bad Flood infestations can get, and how dramatic the responses are." Enzo nodded in agreement and the two began to jog down the street with Jason leading the way.

Their progress was quick at first. Jason was in good shape, what with all his constant combat duty in the field, the exercise he got with Veronica and the daily regiment he stuck to, learned way back in bootcamp when he was joining the Marines, but Enzo was truly a thing of lithe muscle. He could run faster, jump higher and maneuver his way around practically anything. Once again, the ODST counted himself lucky to have such an ally on his side. Not to mention how goddamned intimidating Enzo looked with that sword.

As they drew closer to their destination, the sound of conflict gradually grew louder. It wasn't long before they came across a Covenant outpost being attacked by a large group of Flood. Jason was transfixed, briefly, by the sight of it. He got a good look at the Flood, in the rotten flesh, for the first time.

They were truly horrific: men and Elites turned into rotting, decayed hulks of mindless meat. They could jump extraordinary distances and whenever they whipped at a Grunt or a Jackal with their tentacles, they sent it flying. Some wielded weapons, others were even hijacking vehicles from the Covenant. And, what's worse, Jason spotted some Flood that he'd never heard of before or seen in the reports.

Some were akin to giant beetles, crawling around amongst the chaos, seemingly unnoticed. Jason watched in horror as they would suddenly stop, begin twitching and vibrating violently, and then transform into something else. Sometimes they were slightly larger bug-like entities that seemed to have the ability to shoot spiked barbs. The others were much more disturbing: enormous juggernauts of raw power.

"We must continue," Enzo said quietly.

Jason nodded and they stuck to the back alleyways after that. As they slogged on, hidden away behind buildings and ruins, moving as quickly as they could, the sounds of chaos and combat rose and fell around them. Jason was nervous, terrified of fighting the Flood. It wasn't until after several moments of silent jogging that he realized the true threat of the Flood having come to Earth.

He understood them as dangerous, deadly and lethal beyond measure. One little spore could infected everyone on a planet, given enough time. And, from the reports he'd read, 'enough time' wasn't very much once they got going. And, from the sounds coming from the now dying city of Voi around him, they were already in full swing.

"Enzo, can the Flood be defeated?" Jason asked. "Without, you know, destroying the planet?" he added. Enzo considered this for a moment.

"Yes...if decisive action is taken swiftly. I imagine that my superiors are pushing for a glassing this very second," he replied. Jason frowned.

"Man, the brass sure won't like that."

"Indeed. Eventually, the bickering with either cease or my fleet will glass this city without the consent of your superiors."

"That...wouldn't be good."

"Quite. We can only hope that your superiors see the light of reason."

They didn't speak for a while after that, saving their breath for the jogging, which had been upgraded to a dead run. Jason could only pray that the Covenant and the Flood kept each other busy long enough for him to get the shards and get out.

When they finally spotted the military outpost, Jason's hopes fell. It was very obviously under attack. He could see waves of Flood on approach from several sides, already having broken down the fence. However, there weren't bullets coming out of the base into the shifting mass of decayed flesh, but plasma bolts. Jason and Enzo quickly worked their way around the exterior to a part of the base that had yet to be assaulted and slipped in through a back, unguarded entrance. It looked as if some conflict had gone on, but the pair of Marine corpses indicated that the Covenant had come in this way originally.

The pair made their way slowly down a corridor illuminated in crimson emergency lighting. Jason was nervous, now aching for a shotgun as opposed to his SMG. He wanted something with stopping power, more meant for close quarters combat, and was jealous of Enzo's glowing energy sword. Following the nav marker, Jason took a turn. He wasn't far now. They continued navigating the darkened, bloodied corridors. It looked as if the Covenant had definitely had their fun when they initially invaded the outpost.

Jason paused as he came to an intersection. He glanced down one of the corridors, almost positive he heard something. A human voice. He listened intently, and then he did hear it. Someone was shouting.

Jason turned and hurried on, Enzo following wordlessly. They came to a door marked **Detention Center** and hit the access button. Jason beheld the scene before him. A group of Marines had been locked inside of a cell. A single Brute lay dead and broken on the ground and a Combat Form was attempting, viciously, to break into the cell. Enzo rushed forward without hesitation and _destroyed_ the Flood with his sword. Jason watched in awe as the thing basically detonated and came apart in several different segments.

He approached the Marines.

"Hey man, get us out of here," one of them pleaded.

"What happened here?" Jason replied, hunting for the controls.

"We were understaffed. Most of us got shipped out into the city and other parts when the Covenant hit. When they came for us...there wasn't much we could do. Killed a lot of them, but they overran us in the end. Locked up us survivors," one of the Marines explained. Jason found the release and hit it.

"Well, things just got a lot worse," he replied, counting them. There were eight. One of them retrieved the Spiker the Brute had been carrying, the only spare weapon in the room. "The Flood just hit Earth." The Marines stared at him, each in their own state of battered pain, bruised and bloodied.

"What do we do?" one of them asked quietly.

"Were there any Pelicans left?" Jason replied.

"I think so...they'd be in the hangar. It's on the other side of the base." Jason considered this, then nodded.

"Alright, come on. We've got one stop to make, then we'll go to the Pelican." Having a dropship would make this whole thing a hell of a lot easier. The Marines eyed him warily.

"What stop?" one of them, his nametag read **Porter**, asked.

"I've got to recover something from this outpost," Jason replied, heading back out into the corridor.

The sounds of combat were louder now, echoing down the dead passageways of the forsaken outpost. The Marines followed uneasily and gathered discarded weapons as they went along, quickly and quietly following Jason and Enzo. Jason didn't like drafting the Marines unwillingly to his cause, but he needed all the help he could get, especially with the Flood in the mix now. The Marines seemed willing to listen to him, though, probably because of his black ODST armor. Jason hoped he wasn't leading them to their deaths.

They wound their way through the dreary, bloody corridors and managed to make it to the fourth shard without running into any resistance. It was located in a messhall on a general access terminal.

"Okay, we've got to hold this position for five minutes!" Jason informed his makeshift squad. The Marines shifted uneasily with their scavenged weapons. They took up defensive positions around the area, covering all the entryways and exits. Jason and Enzo did so as well. If they could just get through this without alerting the Flood or the Covenant...

One of the far doors, firmly closed, dented abruptly as a loud bang echoed through the room. Everyone turned their attention to that door, weapons trained on it. There was another painfully loud _bang_, and another dent. Then a third. A fourth. With a tremendous eruption the metal buckled and the door exploded inwards.

An enormous Flood, what one of the Marines adequately called a Tank Form, burst into the room. The thing was titanic and immensely threatening. While the other Combat Forms had a decayed and rotted look, this thing seemed to ripple raw power and was constructed of tightly packed muscle. It issued a tremendous roar and charged into the room.

Everyone opened fire, staggering it at first. But the beast recovered and rushed forward, smashing into a pair of Marines and sending them flying. Jason emptied his SMG into it and reloaded, then repeated the process. The thing was huge and easy to hit, but he had to keep jerking the gun aside as other soldiers got in the way. The Tank Form roared again and turned violently, jerking forward and impaling one of the men on its massive right arm. It began to wave him around like a bloody flag as he screamed, still horribly alive.

The Tank Form hurled the body aside into another group of Marines and sent them all sprawling. Jason was reloading a fourth time when he spotted Enzo rushing forward, apparently tired of shooting at it, and leaped towards it. He sailed through the air, arm and sword raised and brought the energy blade down on the Tank Form with one swift motion. The blade cut through it and severed most of the upper torso and its huge right arm in one go. Silence descended as the thing's body fell to the ground.

It was broken by a soft chime. Jason let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding.

"Okay," he said. "We can go."

He surveyed the room and found that three of the Marines had gone down and not gotten back up during the battle. He winced slightly at the angry look Porter and the others shot him and began to wonder if being a Sergeant would be all that great. They filed out of the room and began hurrying towards the hangar.

The trip was dark and dangerous. Power had failed in most of the outpost and the Flood lurked in the shadows. A few of the Marines had shotguns and put them to good use. Flashlights were turned on, cutting pale beams of light through the darkness. Jason and Enzo led the way, carving a path straight to the hangar. They battled the Flood, Combat Forms in ones and twos, on their way there. By the time they reached the hangar, Jason wondered if he should have just told the Marines to run, because all that was left was Porter and one other named Smith. Everyone else had been taken in the blackened corridors.

The hangar was a bloody mess, Covenant and Flood tearing each other to pieces. But, amongst the chaos, there it was: a Pelican. It stood alone and outside, untouched. The quartet of survivors rushed for it, blasting any enemy that came too close. They hurried along the far wall, as far away from the conflict as they could be, and burst out into sunshine, which was beginning to dim. Jason got there first, thanking God that the back ramp was already open. He pounded up it and hurried into the cockpit, slipping into the pilot's seat.

He ran through the warmup procedures and, after making sure everyone was onboard, closed the cargo ramp. As the engines came online, his radio crackled to life.

_"__Be advised, Corporal DuPree, the Elites are going to glass the city. I repeat, the Elites are going to glass Voi. Evacuation procedures are underway. You've got one hour before they will be in position. Good luck and God speed."_ The link was cut.

Jason sighed softly, feeling the strain of time on his shoulders. He was very weary now, exhausted, hungry and thirsty. But he was close...so close to getting this done with. He lifted off, making his way away from the outpost, towards the final shard.


	27. Part III: Longshore

**Chapter 27  
><strong>_-Longshore-_

"So, this AI, it split itself up in a panic? And you're picking up the pieces?" Porter asked.

He was clearly unhappy. Jason nodded, focusing on the controls of the Pelican. Enzo and Smith sat quietly in the back. Smith looked like he was trying to doze, Enzo was toying with his arsenal, making sure everything worked.

"That's about the size of it," Jason replied.

"Better be a goddamned important AI," Porter growled.

"It's a Smart AI, and it was military grade so...I can only hope."

"And they just sent you?"

"Yep. I picked up Enzo a few hours back...all we've got to do is get this last one, and I can get you up and out of here to a ship in orbit."

"If you've got a Pelican waiting for you already, I don't suppose I could talk you into just giving me and Smith this one whenever we get to wherever your going, could I?"

"Well-"

Jason's sentence was cut off as an explosion rocked the ship. Several of the screens in the cockpit flickered and went dead, several more began flashing red and half a dozen alarms began beeping violently. Jason cursed as he felt the Pelican dip sharply. He was thrown up against the back of his chair and fought for control.

"What happened?!" Smith screamed.

"Something hit us! One of our engines are dead! We're going down!" Jason roared in reply.

He tried to keep the Pelican pointed roughly towards the final location. He could see it ahead, a collection of gritty docks and warehouses along the coast of Voi. Already, he could see several dozen firefights in process, tracers shooting into the dim sky. On the horizon, Elite cruisers were moving into place. The remaining engine whined, struggling with effort to keep them afloat, but it was no good. Jason tried to keep it steady, aiming for a long stretch of pavement in the docks.

"Prepare for impact!"

The Pelican smashed into the ground, and a huge group of Flood currently encroaching on a squad of ODSTs. The Flood were sheered away, either crushed entirely or sent flying into the distance. The Pelican made a horrific grinding noise, the sound of metal rending and heating, as it ground to a halt.

Eventually, it did. All motion ceased, and Jason opened his eyes. He found that, save for a few new bumps, bruises and cuts, he was still alive and relatively intact. He groaned and stood up, cracking his neck.

"Sound off. Who's not dead?"

The three others sounded off, still more or less alive. Jason gathered up his weapons and made his way back into the cargo bay, heading for the ramp. He hit the door and the ramp blossomed open, sparking only a little bit.

"Get ready."

The others gathered, their own weapons ready for action. The ramp opened to show a path of destruction behind them and a group of Flood coming right for them. The quartet opened fire immediately, spraying the inhuman things with a barrage of lead and plasma. Several of them were cut down, limbs and flesh shredded away in the vicious assault. Jason realized pretty quickly that they were going to have to get out of the Pelican or die, so he had them prime and throw all their grenades in quick succession.

Flaming metal fragments and bright bursts of blue-white plasma erupted in a volatile series of explosions, decimating the Flood's numbers.

"Go!" Jason screamed.

They burst out of the back of the Pelican and made their way around it, rushing towards the defensive line the ODST squad had set up. They ran full tilt with hell snapping at their heels. The group barely managed to hop the barrier, spin around and open fire, using it as cover. The squad of ODSTs added their own arsenal, a collection of weapons and mounted machine guns, to the barrage.

The firing seemed to go on forever. Jason drained his SMG and located a nearby battle rifle. He found it to be a ridiculously effective weapon against the Flood. All he had to do was get a single three-round burst in the chest and the Combat Form would go down. He found a cache of grenades and threw them all. When he was down to his last clip on the rifle, reloading it and sighting it fast, he found that, at last, they were alone.

"Holy shit," Jason breathed heavily. He began to hunt around for ammo, scavenging while one of the ODSTs approached.

"Hey, thanks for the assist. Where'd you come from?"

"Deeper in the city...I'm on a mission," Jason replied. He could see the nav marker not too far away, maybe a hundred meters beyond the ODST's barrier, deeper into the dockyards and warehouses.

"What mission?" Jason quickly appraised him of the situation, and when he was was finished, the ODST looked reproachful.

"I need something from you and your Elite friend," he said finally.

Jason finished gathering up the spare grenades and ammo. He turned to fully face the ODST, saw that his nametag read Sergeant and considered telling the man that his orders came from above, literally and militarily. But he decided to hear him out, instead.

"What's that?" Enzo came to stand next to him, fiddling with a battle rifle of his own.

"This was a designated evacuation point. So, naturally, it got hit hard when the Flood came in. A few squads of ODSTs and Marines were assigned to defend it. We're doing all we can and at this point, there's no one left to help. We know we're running on a timeline and we've only got a few hundred more civilians left to offload. Before the Flood got here, we managed to string up a big set of automated sentry guns. They were doing great...until something happened and they all shut down. We had them routed into a central terminal and I left a small team to defend it. They haven't answered, neither did the other team I sent to get it up and running. So-"

"So you need me and Enzo to escort a tech and fix it," Jason finished. The Sergeant nodded. Jason sighed.

He considered it. Making his way to the final shard wouldn't be easy, but it would be a whole hell of a lot less complicated without half a million Flood between him and it. Plus, could he really just ignore hundreds of people?

"Alright, alright," he said finally.

"Also, hate to do this to you, but we could sure use the extra firepower, especially since we're losing a man to go help you. Could your two Marine friends stay and help?"

"Sure, why not?...Come on, Enzo."

The technically inclined ODST was a Lance Corporal named Fuchs. He was quiet, his face hidden behind his black visor, and he seemed happy enough to make the journey in silence. Which was just fine for Jason. He was also helpful enough to put in a secondary nav marker. After they had finished gearing up, the trio headed off.

The trip was easy at first. They pushed west, away from the ODST blockade and the smoking Pelican, but not deeper into the dockyards. They scurried across bloodstained battlefields of metal and asphalt. Bodies of friend and foe alike were scattered like abandoned toys in heaps amidst a carpet of spent shell casings and abandoned weapons. Derelict vehicles, Human and Covenant, burnt and stood as silent testaments to the war.

They made it across to large patches of emptiness and then slipped into a huge section of warehouses. The sun was dying, fading into twilight now. Mist, thick and gray, came in off the sea next to which the dockyards were perched. Everything began to take on a decidedly creepy and haunting quality. Enzo kept his sword out and ready, Jason and Fuchs their battle rifles. They shared no words, moving as quickly as they could.

Seconds bled into minutes, ticking by in forsaken desolation. In the distance, they could hear sounds. Howls and shrieks, the cries of despairing souls come up from Hell tonight, abandoned by their God. Jason kept his battle rifle tight in his hands, tight to his shoulder. He kept his eyes open, looking for shapes in the mist. But there was nothing. They moved through the gray fog of war untouched by the conflict.

The meter counter on the secondary nav marker spun to zero as they made a final approach on a small, makeshift command center. It was essentially a generator and a terminal housed inside of a partially collapsed one-story, one-room building. Jason and Enzo went inside and inspected the carnage within. The terminal was sparking gently and a single body occupied the building. It was ravaged horrifically, blood splattered across the interior. The others that were supposed to be here were missing entirely.

"Okay, cover me," Fuchs said, stepping in.

He ignored the body, laid his gun aside and set the work on repairing the terminal. Jason and Enzo left him to it, returning outside to stand guard. More time passed, the only sounds that of distant conflict and Fuchs' work. Jason found himself wondering about what had happened to the other team left behind. He was willing to believe a Flood attack, but something felt different about this one. As he continued pondering the subject, he began to hear something.

It was distant at first, but grew louder. Eventually, it caught his attention.

"What _is_ that?" he muttered.

"I hear it, too," Enzo replied quietly, gripping his sword. The noises, he realized all at once, were footfalls. Something big, _huge_, was coming their way. He began to see a dark figure, far too tall for any regular Flood, materialize out of the mist ahead of them.

"Oh shit!" he screamed and barely threw himself out of the way as long, barbed tentacle with a razor-sharp spike on the end of it dashed towards him. It hit the ground and cut a deep groove into it, sending bits of debris everywhere. Enzo let out a cry as a similar tentacle came towards him.

"What the hell is _that_!?" Jason screamed as it came into view.

Whatever it was, this new Flood form was _enormous_. It was easily fifteen feet tall, a towering beast that seemed similar to the Tank Form in the sense that it was not decaying but built solidly. Its flesh was a bold green, with two incredibly long arms, more like tentacles, and two ridiculously long legs. It seethed and issued a deep roar that shook the area.

"What's going on out there?!" Fuchs cried.

"Just get the job done!" Jason screamed, rolling out of the way to avoid another tentacle.

He opened fire with his rifle, but the bullets almost seemed to do no damage at all. He began to backtrack, trying to lead the thing away from Fuchs. Enzo was somewhere behind it, probably trying to get a good attack in with his sword. Until he got it, Jason was on his own. He continued backing up, managing to empty his clip and get a plasma grenade stuck to the thing's face. He reloaded as the grenade ruptured, stumbling the huge beast.

Right as he brought his gun up again the tentacle came once more and this time there was hardly anywhere to go. The spike on the end dashed along the side of his chest, under his arm. He screamed as it cut directly through his armor, uniform and flesh. Pain, hot and white, boiled around his torso. He began to fall back, thinking of dying, of Veronica, of Lindsay. He saw, in an instant, Enzo rushing forward.

The big Elite slashed down viciously on the barbed tentacle that had nearly impaled Jason, severing it. A deep, furious howl came from the enormous Flood creature. Through the pain that was blurring his vision, Jason could see another figure running up.

"Guys! I fixed it! I got it working! Hey, what the _fu_-"

The huge thing turned around and, in a flash, shot its remaining arm through Fuchs' chest, impaling him instantly. Enzo rushed forward, but too late. He slashed and cut the tentacle, maiming the great beast completely. Before it had a chance to retreat, the crimson armored alien leapt through the air and drove the point of the blade into the central mass of its body.

Both Enzo and the huge Flood form collapsed to the ground. While Enzo roused himself from the mess, Jason ripped open a medical packet and located a can of biofoam. He sprayed it into the wound, wincing and gritting his teeth viciously against the pain. He used up the whole can and threw it aside.

He wanted painkillers, but knew there wasn't time. Distantly, he could hear the sound of several powerful machine guns firing. At least _that_ was done. Jason replaced the medical kit and went to scavenge ammo from Fuchs.

"He lived just long enough to die," Enzo said quietly, approaching.

Jason grunted and stood up. He and Enzo began to make their way back to the ODST encampment. Jason tried to call up the Sergeant on his radio, but couldn't get anything. He sighed and picked up the pace. If anything, their walk back was even worse, the tension mounting.

When they got back to the ODST encampment, it became immediately obvious why the Sergeant wasn't answering: he was dead. They all were. It looked as if the Flood had come and gone. Jason sighed and wanted to rub his temples.

"Why does everyone that comes in contact with me dies?" he asked, staring at the bodies of Smith and Porter. Enzo glanced at him, then took a step away. Jason glared at him.

"Oh, don't you _even_-" Enzo broke into a deep laugh.

"It was my attempt at humor." Jason hesitated, then laughed. He cried out in pain and continued half laughing, gripping his side.

"No humor. Not now," he groaned.

"We should move on. The cruisers are settling into position," Enzo pointed out.

Jason knew he was right. They gathered up whatever they could from the bodies and then began to head for the nav marker. As they passed the encampment, Jason spotted something that would be tremendously helpful. A Warthog. He hopped into the driver's seat while Enzo mounted up in the back, manning the chaingun. He began driving.

Around them, the dockyards burned. There were fields of corpses, dozens of them, hundreds of them. Civilians, Marines, Covenant and Flood all mixed in so that there were almost indistinguishable. Jason had seen slaughter before, but...this ranked pretty high up there. Once again, he began to wonder if Humanity was going to make it. He glanced back at Enzo in the rearview. Now more than ever he was glad to have the Elites by their side.

The Warthog took them the rest of the way there, driving through a handful of skirmishes in progress. Jason couldn't stop to help, there simply wasn't time. Enzo offered whatever he could in the form of a drive-by with the chaingun, taking out a handful of Combat Forms in the process. When they got to where they were going, a medical access terminal perched at the side of a crane control tower, they found it mercifully void.

Jason sat in the driver's seat, watching as the bar in his HUD instantly began to fill up. It was going to be a long wait, and the sound of combat was too close for comfort. Seconds ticked off, unbearably slow. As he continued waiting, a sharp crackle of noise filtered into his headset, causing him to jerk.

_"Corporal DuPree, be advised, the Elites are nearly in position to glass Voi. Our sensors report that you're almost finished collecting the final shard. Confirm?"_

"Yes, I've almost got it. Do you have a pickup zone for me? Can you get the Pelican to me?"

_"Negative. The skies are not clear in your area. But there is a PZ, along the shoreline, two kliks north. Get there as quickly as you can. You've got twenty minutes."_

"Affirmative...we'll be there."

As the bar reached just over the halfway mark, Jason began to hear growling noises. He stiffened. Several dark forms began to appear out of the mist.

"_Shit_," he snapped harshly, standing in his seat and raising the battle rifle.

Enzo began to warm up the chaingun. As over a dozen Combat Forms began to come towards the Warthog, Enzo opened fire. Jason started to hurl his grenades, using them all up to buy them as much time as possible. More and more Combat Forms began to appear, shrieking and howling and moaning as they rushed forward in a mad dash.

The grenades blew violent holes in their ranks, but still they came. Enzo swept the chaingun back and forth in wide arcs, cutting through the Combat Forms, blowing them to pieces. The marker began to count down its last sixty seconds. Jason opened fire with his rifle, emptying one magazine and slamming in a new one. He emptied that one, too, taking down the Flood as quickly as they appeared. He wished vainly for more grenades.

Right as one jumped onto the Warthog, into the passenger's seat, the final shard finished downloading.

"We are _out_ of here!" Jason screamed, putting the barrel into the Combat Form's chest and squeezing the trigger. As soon as it was dead, slumped off the car, he hit the gas and peeled out. He drove out of the dockyards, towards the last nav marker. Towards the last rally point.

He only prayed that he could make it there in time.


	28. Part III: Cutting It Close

**Chapter 28  
><strong>_-Cutting It Close-_

Voi burned around them.

The horizon was wreathed in brilliant blue-white flames, hot and wild and alive. The pure, raw energy tore through the derelict human settlements. Through desolate warehouses and abandoned apartment complexes. It demolished whole city blocks, torched vehicles in an instant and vaporized piles of corpses.

Jason could already see the pattern the Elites were making in their vast purple cruisers above. They were starting at the city limits, moving in a circle, slowly working their way inwards. He still had time...but not much. Enzo clung grimly to the turret behind him, silent as a grave. There were no words, none were needed.

Jason gripped the steering wheel so hard that it hurt, tension making his muscles sing with pain. His chest was killing him, and he knew he was on the verge of falling apart. Too many long days and sleepless nights over the past month. Too much work, too much killing, too many close calls. And now it was catching up with him. His head throbbed with pain, everything ached and his vision was beginning to swim.

The city streets were littered with bodies and wrecked cars. He had to swerve to avoid the derelict vehicles and huge pieces of burning debris. There was nothing alive around, except for the occasional Combat Form or lonely Brute. They were driving through an industrial zone, everything made out of construction yards, some of the structures skeletal. There was a nav marker quickly ticking off meters, but it felt too far away.

Jason's visor was darkened so much that he was having trouble seeing, trying to compensate for the brightness of the pillars of plasma, coming down from the burning skies like gods. The temperature was already approaching that of the interior of an ODST drop pod and sweat was pouring off of him as a result.

A small timer had been matched against the nav marker, showing him how much time he had left to get onboard before the Pelican was forced to take off or die. Running some rough calculations, he figured that he had very little room for error. Jason wondered if maybe he should have just listened to Porter and flown off right then and there, fifth shard be damned. They could have done with four-fifths of an AI, right?

At least compared to _no_ AI if Jason didn't make it the hell out of this. He found himself thinking about how much he didn't want to die. About how much he wanted to see Veronica again, how much he wanted a shower, to see the Earth from orbit, to kill more Covenant...and he laughed. It was a short, dark, grim chuckle, forced almost, and he wondered if he was cracking again. Jason wrestled with suicide probably more than the average ODST, and had seriously considered it on more than one occasion.

But now, so desperately, he wanted to _live_. Twenty four suddenly seemed incredibly young and he couldn't even imagine making it to thirty five. Jason cried out and swerved as a huge piece of building smashed into the road. The Warthog was hit by a rain of debris and for a second he was terrified that they were going to tip over.

But the Hog kept going, kept speeding along as fast as it could, the pedal pushed firmly down. In the distance, he thought he could see the Pelican, parked right down in the middle of the street. He tried to push the pedal harder as the nav marker dipped down below one hundred meters. Yes, Jason knew that he wanted to live. It was blunt, basic and all consuming: he _needed_ to carry on his ridiculous existence of killing.

Why?

He'd figure that out later. Fifty meters now. He could sure as hell see that Pelican now, the back ramp down, open to them. The solid wall of plasma was visible only a few hundred meters in front of it. It was gaining ground. Jason willed the Warthog to go faster. Enzo, ever the stoic Elite, remained completely silent.

A Combat Form abruptly jumped out in front of the Hog and Jason didn't bat an eye as he ran it down, splashing the windshield with gore and coagulated blood, as thick as syrup. The body went up and over and in the rearview Jason saw Enzo ducking briefly. He grinned. They were almost there, just a few dozen more meters to go.

He kept going, running over another few Combat Forms that seemed to not understand the concept of getting out of the way. Right as they came to the back of the Pelican, Jason smashed the brakes and leapt out.

"Go!" he screamed, pounding up the ramp, not even looking back. Enzo was almost faster than he was, rushing up alongside him. The Pelican began taking off the very second they were inside of it, the back ramp not even finished closing yet. Jason stumbled, barely managing to fall into a seat. He and Enzo secured themselves as quickly as they could, hot air blasting into the Pelican as the ramp finished closing.

Jason stared out the window, the tension draining out of him so fast that he couldn't even muster the strength to lift one arm. Beyond the tiny window framed in dark metal, Voi was turning into ash. Jason had a flashback as he watched it fly by, the Pelican rising into the air, heading for the bit of airspace left not taken up by the cruisers. He thought of watching a similar experience from a similar Pelican, back on New Jerusalem.

"Jason," Enzo said quietly, "You have done your race proud. I would be honored to call you brethren." Jason stared across at the Elite, and smiled.

"I'd be proud to do the same," he replied quietly.

They escaped the funnel of death, rising into the atmosphere, and silence encompassed the Pelican while they ascended towards the stars.

* * *

><p>Awake.<p>

For once, it felt good to be awake, because it had followed such a long sleep. He shifted slightly in the infirmary bed, the lights dim. His chest still ached, but the pain was more than tolerable. Veronica was asleep next to him.

Jason considered the past twenty four hours. After escaping Voi, he'd delivered the AI, fully reconstructed, and had promptly collapsed. The Brass decided his debriefing could wait and he was taken to the nearest infirmary. There, they'd removed his armor and treated his most immediate wounds.

After he had been stabilized and allowed to take a shower, alone, as Veronica was off somewhere else in the ship, doing whatever an ONI officer did to earn her paycheck. Then, showered and dressed in a set of what he thought of as 'civvies', civilian clothes, he'd been forced to lay in a bed while the man who'd originally given him the mission debriefed him.

It had been long, longer than it needed to be, and Jason began to get suspicious with all the questions he was asking. Fear became entrenched heavily in his psyche...had they discovered his little breakdown in New Mombasa? Was that why Veronica had yet to show? He kept his cool, and good thing, too, because Veronica showed up after that. She seemed very excited and relieved to see him, and tried to force the debriefing to wrap up quickly.

It did, after another few minutes of questioning, and she'd had Jason moved to his own, private room and given him her own welcome home.

That was all before. Memories, hot and fresh in his mind. He'd slept, then, and now he had awoken. All was still and quiet and cool in the dim confines of his private room. He felt very satisfied, and wondered how Enzo was doing. The Elite had also been treated and given a room. The last Jason had heard, he'd refused transport to his own people, opting instead to stay. Jason looked forward to spending some time with the Elite.

There was a soft chime, interrupting his thoughts. He sighed and shook Veronica gently. She stirred in her sleep.

"Again?" she mumbled drowsily. Jason chuckled.

"No, dear. Not yet. We've got company," he replied.

Veronica cursed and roused herself. The two stood and dressed, Jason not quite as quick as her, his muscles still sore and tender. When they were both fully clothed, Jason hit the lights and answered the door. The ONI higher up from before stepped into the room. Jason noted his nametag, polished and shiny under the lights, read **Lt. Cmdr. Bennings**. Jason finally had a name to put to the face.

"Can I help you?" he asked. "Need to grill me some more?" Bennings smiled without humor.

"No, Sergeant DuPree...but I _do_ need you for another mission. And what you just went through will be cake compared to this."


	29. Part IV: Once More Unto the Breach

_**Part Four: The Ark**_

**Chapter 29  
><strong>_-Once More Unto the Breach-_

"Her name was Lindsay Palmer. She was my fiancee when I was nineteen."

Jason shifted nervously from one foot to the next, anxiously watching Veronica stare at the picture he'd kept on him for years. It had been sealed in an incredibly durable polymer, but still showed signs of wear and tear from his nearly daily handling of it. That had dropped off in the past month, which made him feel slightly awkward. Almost as if he was betraying her memory, since Veronica had been his first since Lindsay.

"She's pretty," Veronica said finally. It was the first thing she'd said since she'd pulled him aside, before the official briefing could begin, and demanded to see the photo. Jason again shifted uncomfortably.

"Yeah, she was," he murmured quietly. Veronica looked up.

"What happened to her?"

Jason wasn't quite sure how to proceed. It was obvious that she was unhappy about this development. Jason felt the urgent need of time pressing down on his shoulders. He still didn't know what the mission was, and had sent Enzo on ahead of him, to a briefing room, when Veronica demanded a few minutes alone.

"She died," he replied finally. Veronica's intense gaze softened. She looked back down at the photo, then passed it back to him. He slipped it into his pocket.

"I'm so sorry, honey," she whispered. "I didn't know, I just thought..."

She trailed off, letting silence spill into the room, creating a titanic void between them. Somehow, Jason thought that a quickie wasn't going to fix _this_. Which threw him off balance. As weird as it sounded, he had almost always been able to distract her with sex whenever some stupid argument cropped up. He felt as if something fundamental about their relationship had just changed. Something not easily fixed.

"I know, and, look, Veronica, I know you're jealous and...I'm sorry I didn't say anything earlier. It's just...Lindsay was a really painful memory. She was killed in a glassing that I barely survived. It's what made me join up for the Marines...and you've been my first ever since her." Jason stopped speaking, trying to gauge how his lover was feeling. Her eyes were vivid and intense, her face firm, but it twisted, as if a great emotional tremor tore through her.

"I...dammit, I really feel like a bitch now," she said finally. Jason stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug.

"You aren't, you just-" They both jumped slightly as a nearby comm unit crackled to life.

_"__Sergeant DuPree, the Covenant armada is not going to wait for your love life,"_ Bennings said, sounding irritable. Jason sighed. He squeezed Veronica closed to him and then broke away from her. He hit the reply button.

"On my way," he snapped. Jason turned back to face Veronica.

"Look honey, I love you. A lot. And I'll be back before you know it," he said, then pressed his lips firmly to hers, tasting the sweet, murky taste of her saliva as she responded with an almost vicious passion. She let him go, finally.

"Come back to me safe," she whispered. Jason nodded, kissed her again quickly and left the room.

He made his way through the brightly lit corridors of the _Say My Name_, eager to be on with his mission. Things were...complicated, now. Why did it always have to get that way? Half the complaints he heard from the other Marines and ODSTs in idle conversation was some shitty relationship that had started out great and gone south.

Was his going south now? Or was he just being paranoid? It was different, that's all he knew. He just needed time away, time to think it over. Because he knew that he did love Veronica. Maybe not in the same way he'd loved Lindsay...he wasn't sure he'd be able to love anyone that way again. And while it may be different love, but it was still just that.

Jason stepped into the briefing room, finding Enzo attempting, and failing, to sit in one of the chairs. Bennings looked uncomfortable. He seemed eager to begin as Jason took a seat, and immediate launched into a speech.

"Now that you're finally here, we can began. As you know, the Master Chief entered Voi about the same time as the Flood did. Voi was glassed. What you probably _don't_ know is that we finally found out what the Covenant were trying to dig up: a portal. This portal has led to what is being referred to as the Ark. We've followed Truth through the portal to the Ark. Now, this is where you two come in. DuPree, I've come to understand that you trained with Captain Price. Is this correct?"

Jason nodded.

"Two months in the field."

"I thought so. Your training will serve you well here. And my inquiries to the Elites have confirmed that you, Enzo, have had similar stealth training." The big Elite nodded. "Which will make you two perfect for this job. You see, the Covenant is cracking. Crumbling. But they're still strong. Intelligence has managed to get information on three minor Prophets helping maintain operations on a smaller scale on the Ark. I want you two to track down and kill these Prophets."

Silence filled the room. Jason frowned.

"So, you want the two of us to go through the portal, to the Ark and, alone, hunt and kill _three_ Prophets, all of whom are probably going to be heavily guarded on a constant basis?" he asked. Bennings smiled and nodded. Jason sighed.

"Are you _trying_ to kill me?" he asked finally.

"No, not really. More of...well, we're testing you." Jason sat up at that statement.

"Testing me? For what?" He was already an ODST, a Sergeant...what more could they want from him? Sure, there was always room to go up in the military, if you lived long enough, but he honestly wasn't sure if he wanted to go any higher.

"Not in the way that you're thinking, but let's just say that there are some of us who are more far-sighted than others, and we're planning for what's going to happen _after_ the war. Assuming we win it." Bennings kept smiling that damned smile. Jason suddenly wondered if Veronica knew anything about this. If the schism in their relationship wasn't more than it seemed.

"What then?" he asked finally.

"I'm sorry, DuPree. I've already said more than I should have. But, I'll tell you what, survive this journey, and I might be able to tell you more. And I think you'll find it to your liking," Bennings replied. "Now," he said, standing and heading for the door. The pair rose lithely to their feet and followed out into the corridor. "You're going to be shipped immediately to the _Darkwind_. They are heading into the portal soon to provide backup to the Elites and the UNSC personnel already there." He led them through the corridors, towards, Jason assumed, the hangars. They passed several Marines and technicians along the way, hurrying about.

"You'll be given access to a Kestrel gunship, it's fast and light with a bit of bite to it. And, as an added bonus, it's been fitted with an experimental cloaking device. We stole it off the Covenant last year and have been trying it out on our own technology. The Elites have helped as much as they could since they joined, so it should be up to snuff now. Also, the _Darkwind_ is fully fitted for stealth operations and you'll be able to take whatever you want. You have free reign." Jason took this all in as they came into the hangar.

He spotted a Pelican, set away from the others in an airlock back, powered up and ready to fly. Bennings was leading them there.

"Once you hit the Ark, you'll be almost completely on your own. You will have _one_ lifeline. A team of ODST specialists will be waiting aboard the _Darkwind_, ready to drop in on your position, anywhere on the Ark, should you absolutely need it. But remember, this is a last resort type of situation. Your main approach and tactic must be stealth."

They came to stand by the waiting Pelican.

"Any last questions?"

"Yeah, what do I get if I survive this time?" Jason replied. Bennings only smiled.

"In good time, DuPree."

He turned and walked away, the airlock closing behind him. Jason sighed and climbed onboard the Pelican. Enzo followed. The back ramped closed up behind them, enclosing them in the seating area. The pilot was hidden behind a closed door, leaving them alone with their own thoughts.

"You earn things for surviving difficult missions?" Enzo asked as they sat down across from each other.

"I never did before, at least, not before New Jerusalem. I got promoted then, and promoted twice since I've got to Earth. It's really strange," Jason replied, thinking about it. After New Jerusalem, it had been different, hadn't it?

As the Pelican began to make for the _Darkwind_, Jason sat and wondered about just where his life was headed.


	30. Part IV: Into the Howling Darkness

**Chapter 30  
><strong>_-Into the Howling Darkness-_

"So...how is your relationship with...the female?" Enzo asked. Jason fought hard not to start laughing.

"It's, ah, it's okay. I guess." The Pelican was almost to the _Darkwind_. Enzo coughed quietly. The silence swallowed the sound.

"Do you...do you mate often?" Jason stifled a laugh with a sharp cough and wished he had his armor on, at least then he could hide behind his opaque visor.

"Um...yeah, yeah. We sure do," he replied. Enzo nodded.

"That's good."

Jason had talked about socially awkward things before, but this was ridiculous. He rubbed the back of his neck, just for something to do. What had his life become when he began discussing his sex life with an alien? A sharp _clang_ reverberated through the hull, informing them they had arrived. Jason suppressed a relieved sigh and stood as the Pelican came to a halt. The back ramp began to lower.

"I look forward to our mission. It has been some time since my stealth abilities have been put to sufficient use," Enzo said as they walked down the ramp. He seemed much more comfortable talking about the mission. Jason couldn't agree more. They stepped out of the airlock into a frenzy of activity in the main hangar beyond.

Dozens of Marines, ODSTs and technicians ran around, preparing gear, checking vehicles, loading up weapons and supplies. Jason was impressed. He was even happier to see a few Elites there in the mix. He had grown to like Enzo over their short time together, and now knew more than ever that they would need the Elites to survive. And the sooner everyone got that through their heads and started to play nice, the better.

One ODST, clad completely in traditional obsidian armor, broke away from the thriving mass and moved towards them.

"Sergeant DuPree? Major 'Enslom?" he asked tersely. Both nodded, straightening up a little. "This way, our team is already in isolation." He began to lead them away from the airlock, through the hangar.

"Isolation?" Enzo asked quietly.

"Traditionally, teams of highly skilled individuals preparing for an incredibly dangerous mission are locked in a room with all the relevant data to prepare a plan. They call it isolation," Jason explained. Enzo nodded appreciatively.

"A good idea."

They plunged into the vast network of tunnel like corridors aboard the _Darkwind_, equally abuzz with activity. They shouldered their way through the crowd, being led by the silent ODST. Jason felt awkward about having an entire team of ODSTs at his beck and call. Chances were, they were going to be just sitting around in orbit, waiting for the call, for most of the mission. And Jason knew how much _he_ would hate that.

They reached the isolation chamber, a briefing room, and found seven more ODSTs seated within, reviewing a holographic display of something enormous.

"Is that it?" Jason asked. They all looked up from the table, their helmets off. Each of them looked rough and hard-bitten.

"That's the Ark," one of them replied.

He stood and thrust a gloved hand out. Jason shook it. The man had a crushing grip. He was huge, easily reaching six foot six, and so bulky with muscle that the suit barely seemed able to contain him. His head was freshly shaved and the blue eyes he had were so bright and wild that they looked alight with azure flame.

"Good to meet you, Sergeant DuPree. I'm Bolt. I've heard a lot about you," he confided.

The big man then turned and introduced the rest of the squad in quick succession. Corporal North was their sniper. Lance Corporal Weldon their medic. Private Cruz their demolitions expert. PFC Falcheck, the one who had led them in, was their comms guy. Lance Corporal Williams and PFC Collins were both weapons specialists. And, finally, Private Dixon was their jack-of-all-trades kind of technician with a thing for Covenant tech.

"We've been briefed with all available data on the Ark and your mission and background," Bolt said, leading the pair up to the holographic display. Jason stared at it for several seconds in mute contemplation. The structure must have been enormous.

"So, what can you tell me about it?" he asked finally.

"Well, the surface area operates a lot like what we've encountered on the Halos. Lots of different biomes. As far as we can tell, the Flood have already gotten there. The Covenant made it there first and we followed immediately. There's already a lot of fighting going on, but the Covenant, ever the opportunists, have spread out and set up lots of smaller outposts. From the very small stray transmissions we've picked up, it looks like they're hunting for more Forerunner artifacts, even in the midst of all this..." Bolt fell silent.

"Yes, our Prophet's greatest weakness was always how blinded they were by the false offerings of the Forerunners...and it _will_ be their downfall," Enzo said, his voice turning into a low, threatening growl. The ODSTs bristled at this and Bolt chuckled. He pulled out a cigarette and lit up, pulling on it and blowing a smoke ring.

"Glad that you guys are on our side now," he said. Jason stepped a little closer.

"Tell me, honestly, Bolt. How has it been going, the integration?" he asked, his voice a little low, as if afraid of being overheard.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I'm willing to bury the hatchet. Most of the ODSTs are, I think. We've all been through enough shit at this point that we're not above asking for help. Most of the Marines are, well, mostly on the same page. But there's always fights, mistrust, paranoia and anger, from both sides. For now, though, the war is holding us all together. But once the fighting stops, and, provided we come out of this one alive...I'm not so sure."

Jason nodded. Not exactly the answer he was hoping for, but the one he expected to hear. Well, it wasn't as if all would be forgotten overnight.

"Now, we'll be gathering real-time updates from all our ships on the Ark during the course of your mission, but we can't really provide you with any real help. Radio silence and all that...by the way, how were you thinking of starting this whole thing out?"

"Finding a remote Covenant outpost, sneaking in and cracking the code on the Covenant battlenet. After that, we'd sift through the transmissions until we got what we wanted," Jason replied. Bolt nodded respectfully.

"That's about what we were thinking. Well...we'll keep planning, being as ready as possible for when or if you need us. We had an armory set up just for you. Falcheck will take you to it. Good luck and Godspeed." Bolt shook his hand once more with that impressive grasp, and Enzo's too, and Falcheck led them out of the room.

They once more plunged into the narrow complex of corridors, moving quickly and silently. From the general talk and feel of the place, Jason determined that the _Darkwind _was currently on its way to the portal. And soon, the Ark. He felt anticipation welling up inside of him. He'd never been to either of the Halos, and had always wanted to know what it all looked like. He was eager to get down to the 'ground', so to speak, of the Ark.

Falcheck took them to the specialized armory where a small detachment of Marines waited to carry whatever Jason wanted to the Kestrel. The first, and only, thing he wanted them to do was deliver several dozen pounds of C12 explosive to the ship. Once he'd sent them away, he began picking over the gear. It was all beautiful, a fine collection of stealth equipment. One thing that had him smiling was when he discovered personal cloaking devices.

He and Enzo gathered up their respective gear. Jason selected his usual arsenal: a silenced pistol and SMG. He added on an easily broken down, extremely powerful and accurate silenced sniper rifle with a zoom of nearly a mile. He added in a collection of finely honed throwing knives, a combat knife tipped with poison meant to kill instantly, (and had to inject himself and Enzo with the inoculation beforehand in case of an accident), and a full medical kit. After adding in a few more random pieces of equipment he thought he might need, as well as pulling on a full suit of armor, he and Enzo left the armory.

They didn't want to weigh them down with too much gear. Falcheck led them through the _Darkwind_ once more to their final destination: another hangar. He showed them to the Kestrel, tucked away into its own airlock bay, wished them good luck and left.

Jason studied the ship. It was essentially a long body supported by two circular engines, almost like a redesigned, cut down Pelican meant for speed and maneuverability. Jason and Enzo walked up the back ramp, finding that the Marines had come and gone, leaving a few crates worth of high explosive. He gently patted it was he walked past, slipping into the cockpit. He found the controls almost perfectly matched that of a Pelican, something he was trained to fly. As he settled into the pilot's seat and began to warm up the engines, Enzo came to stand in the doorway behind him.

"Are we ready?" Jason nodded.

"We are locked, cocked and ready to shock," he replied happily.

"An interesting saying," Enzo murmured.

Jason patched into the _Darkwind's_ comms system and learned that they had just passed through the portal. He quickly worked the airlock's cycle, eager to get a look at the Ark in real life. Seconds passed in tense silence, and then the outer bay doors began to open up.

The infinite blackness of space, dotted with impossibly distant stars, met their gaze. And, among it, standing out in stark contrast, was the immense structure of the Ark.

"Truly magnificent," Enzo whispered, the awe obvious in his voice. Jason had to agree with him, but felt at a loss for words.

Instead of speaking, he brought the Kestrel out of the bay and began to make for the Ark.


	31. Part IV: Cold Silence

**Chapter 31  
><strong>_-Cold Silence-_

The Kestrel handled much more smoothly than Jason thought it would. Enzo sat in the co-pilot's seat silently, surveying the view as they finished burning through the atmosphere. He had to hand it to the big Elite, the Ark _was_ a beautiful sight. Jason returned his attention to the screen in front of him. Bolt had managed to do a little bit of digging from what little data was readily available. Though the Covenant battlenet was now secure, the traffic could generally be traced. Bolt had provided a list of small, isolated outposts.

Jason had selected one, a particularly distant outpost nestled on an icy field in a frozen wasteland. There wasn't another base around for dozens of miles. It was perfect for what they needed. The plan was simple. First, they had to infiltrate their outpost. Easy as hell, considering their mobile cloaking units. Then, they were going to figure out how to hack into the Covenant battlenet. Then they were going to plant a hell of a lot of bombs, get away and blow the base sky high. As far as Jason was concerned, this mission should be cake.

It was the other three that had him worried.

The Kestrel kicked slightly as they hit some turbulence. Spread out before them was vast winter desolation. They had broken through a thick cloud cover. Icy white fields below, iron gray skies above. A storm was in progress. Jason grinned. They would be like ghosts. He flicked on the cloaking device for the Kestrel, and watched through the front windows as the nose of the craft disappeared. His grin broadened. This just wasn't going to be fair.

He did a flyby of the outpost once he got a sight on it. The thing was a lonely collection of purple buildings on an icy plain. He could already spot the dark dots moving around sluggishly in the storm. Brutes mostly. Jason brought the Kestrel down half a klik from the outpost, nestling it on the snowy terrain and shutting the engines down. He left the cloaking device on and made sure to mark the thing with a nav marker on his helmet. He then marked the outpost with another nav marker of a different color.

Jason and Enzo stood wordlessly, moving back into the cargo bay. They began gathering up their supplies for the upcoming task. Jason packed his pockets with a small collection of C12. Enzo carried his own portion, much more than Jason would comfortably. Jason selected his silenced arsenal and ran his hand over the small screen he'd mounted on the side of the SMG. It was essentially a miniature LifeScan that worked continuously, giving him an accurate, overhead picture of anyone else around him for a twenty foot radius. It was more effective and accurate than a motion tracker, and he was eager to try it out.

He secured several spare clips of ammo and a combat knife. When a small blue light sparked in the cargo bay, Jason glanced over. He saw that Enzo was sporting his own knife, but this one was made of pure energy.

"Very nice," Jason murmured appreciatively.

Enzo nodded and deactivated the knife, returning it to its sheath. He had his own selection of silenced weapons. Both fitted themselves with personal cloaking devices. Once they made sure that everything was cinched down tight, so that it wouldn't move around, fall off or make noise while they were creeping around, the pair made for the back exit. Jason hit the button and the back ramp blossomed open.

Snow and shrieking winds poured into the cargo bay and the pair of silent killers hurried down it, closing the door as quickly as they could. They began walking into the storm, and when they got five meters away, Jason turned back and stared at the Kestrel. He couldn't see a thing. The only indication that it was there was the nav marker, pulsing gently above it. He grinned and returned his attention to the front.

It was a whole new war.

They continued walking into the blizzard, shrouded in the snow. Jason could barely see Enzo moving beside him, and felt comforted by his presence. He'd hate to be doing this solo. They walked in silence for several minutes, feeling the cold seep into their suits. Jason felt bad for Enzo, his suit wasn't even full-body.

It wasn't long before they reached the perimeter of the outpost. Jason glanced down at the LifeScan screen, still visible through the cloak. A few red dots were spread out before him, not far away. Jason and Enzo came upon an outer guard, a Brute standing by itself, shivering quietly in the storm and muttering unhappily to itself. Jason raised his SMG and squeezed the trigger twice, both shots taking the Brute in the skull. The big alien dropped instantly, falling into a slump almost without a sound, the noise consumed by the storm.

They hurried on, stepping over the body and entering the camp. One thing that Price had taught him was that you never lingered on missions like these once the killing had started, not unless you absolutely had to. They slipped in between a pair of domed structures and Enzo drove his blade into the back of the neck of a Brute standing guard there. He grabbed the body and let it down easy this time, sensing others nearby.

Jason checked his LifeScan. There was a small contingent of dots moving just beyond the alleyway they were in. He crept forward and spotted a group of Grunts making their way down a sort of street in between a collection of buildings on either side. He hung back, letting them pass, and whispered into his mike.

"Where's the best place to go?"

Enzo strained his eyes against the storm, contemplating. Finally, he pointed at one of the buildings, a smaller, rectangular structure across the way. Jason nodded and checked the LifeScan. He could see nothing within range. They hurried out of the alleyway, scurrying across the street and all but diving into another alley, this one adjacent to the building Enzo had pointed out.

They found a side entrance and killed the two Brutes inside without too much struggle. Jason capped one in the head while Enzo stabbed the other in the face with a cold efficiency that made Jason shudder slightly. He turned and guarded the way they had come in through while Enzo found an access terminal and got to work.

Seconds melted into minutes, ticking off in forbidding solitude. Jason watched the LifeScan intently, watched red dots appear on one side of the screen and disappeared out the other. Sometimes they would linger. Sometimes they would get closer. When Enzo finished up, telling Jason quietly that he had the access codes to the battlenet, Jason was immensely surprised to discover that no more than two and a half minutes had elapsed.

"Alright, let's plant the bombs," he said. Enzo nodded.

Once they made their way back out into the storm, they split up. This had been decided beforehand. There was no reason for them to stick together at this point, they would be twice as fast and effective alone. Jason slunk off into the storm, watching for red dots and avoiding them as much as he could. He let himself go with the flow, planting small bricks of explosive in as many out of the way, inconspicuous places as he could. Whenever he had to kill, he tried to hide the body, but sometimes that was impossible and he just left it where it lay.

Jason knew that every second they stayed in the camp, every body they let pile up, was bringing them that much closer to discovery. He pressed on through the frigid winds, though, killing and planting explosive. He received and sent updates to Enzo every two minutes, to make sure that nothing had gone wrong. So far, nothing had.

Jason was just planting his final explosive and was just beginning to think that they might make it out of there without getting caught when something not too far away blew up. For a split crazy second, Jason's gut went cold, thinking that Enzo's bombs had gone off prematurely. But when another explosion didn't follow suit, he relaxed slightly.

Then an alarm began to go off.

_"__Jason, I've been compromised. I'm going to drop the rest of my bombs and run for the ship. I would advise you do the same," _Enzo stated calmly over their radio channel.

"Affirmative," Jason replied, then cursed sharply.

He stared at the LifeScan. All around him, several red dots were appearing and rapidly closing on his location. The alarm continued to blare overhead, loud and omnipresent. He turned towards the distant nav marker and started to run. As he did, shoving past Grunts and taking the occasional pot shot at Brutes, he realized that most of his life lately seemed to consist of running towards nav markers. It was when a Brute hurled a spike grenade at him, and it narrowly avoided attaching to his face and instead hit another Brute behind him, who had been chasing him, when he stopped thinking and just ran.

Jason hit the perimeter of the base about the time Enzo did and they both made for the ship in a dead sprint. Jason watched the numbers tick down rapidly on his head's up display and once they reached a minimum safety distance with plasma bolts whizzing around them, the Covenant giving chase, Jason stopped and spun around.

He keyed up the detonation sequence, waited one second, then activated it. He grinned viciously as the Covenant giving chase were consumed in a brilliant mix of orange and blue-white flame. The buildings were torn to bits, converted into so much free flying debris as the explosions tipped off, one by one at first, then ultimately cultivating into one massive plume of fiery death.

As the last of the flames began to die down seconds later, the pillar of death gone, Jason let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. He glanced over at Enzo.

"Well played," the Elite said, uncloaked now and smiling. Jason dropped his own cloak and nodded, turning back to face the ship.

"Agreed. Now let's get back and crack the battlenet."


	32. Part IV: Crosshairs

**Chapter 32  
><strong>_-Crosshairs-_

"I've managed it!" Enzo cried.

Jason nearly pissed his uniform in surprise. He'd been sitting in the cockpit, nearly napping, when suddenly there came a screaming. Enzo had been in the cargo bay for nearly half an hour now, messing around with the Covenant battlenet. Cracking it had been easy, tracking down data on the minor Prophets had been the tough part. Jason left him to it, wanting to catch up on some sleep, hidden in a cloaked ship in a snowstorm, hovering in the air. The radar had been clear the entire time. They'd flown nearly twenty kliks from the destroyed base, not wanting to be discovered by anyone coming to investigate.

"So, what's up?" Jason asked, coming back into the cargo bay. He found the large, hulking form of the Elite hunched over a small foldout table, fiddling with the delicate controls of the communications unit. The sight was ridiculous. Jason could easily, for some reason, picture Enzo with huge foam headphones on, perhaps manning an old school DJ table.

"Good news, my friend. I have located the first of our three targets. The bastard Wisdom is located at an excavation site, overseeing it. I have the coordinates," Enzo stated.

Jason decided that he had never seen the Elite so happy. They returned to the cockpit, where Enzo fed the coordinates into the computer and they sat back. Time began to pass in a calm silence, rattled occasionally by a bout of turbulence, which began to dissolve into an uncomfortable quietude.

"So..." Enzo began. "How are things with your...mate?" Jason hesitated. To lie or not to lie? Well, what else could soldiers in the field tell each other but the truth? Especially in a situation as unique as this.

"Well...I'm not sure, Enzo," he replied finally. Enzo shifted in the chair, turning his alien gaze towards him.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you see, Enzo, I'm beginning to wonder if, well, maybe we're not entire right for each other."

"How so?"

"Well...this is a little complicated. I'm not sure how it works in your culture, but-oh shit, who am I kidding, I don't know how it works in _my_ culture. See, here's the thing. I had only ever had one...mate, before. A few years ago. But I lost her. And I've been alone since. But, then, all of a sudden, Veronica crashes into my life under...well, unusual circumstances. And, well, it was _great_ at first. I'd forgotten just how goddamned _good_ the sex could be. Especially with an older women, which I had never had before.

"But, well, you can only spend so long in bed, you know? Does that make sense?" Jason broke off, wanting to make sure that Enzo was still with him. He knew how difficult the culture barrier could be, but the Elite just nodded.

"Okay, good, good. So, I was thinking. Take away the sex, and what's left? How well do me and Veronica really, you know, _click_? Connect?"

Jason fell silent then, realizing that _this_ is what he had been thinking for the past few days. Maybe ever since Veronica had asked about Lindsay, right before he'd dropped back down into hell again, into Voi. Or maybe even before that. He sighed softly, resisting the urge to rub his temples.

A soft chime caught his attention. They weren't far from their destination. Good. He needed a distraction. Killing a Prophet would be just the thing. Jason studied the vastly different environment they had come to from behind polarized and invisible windows. They were flying over a heavily forested region with a mountain rising in the distance. A plan instantly began to formulate in Jason's mind as he approached the mountain.

And, as if God were seeing and okaying his plan, Jason spotted the excavation site sat right where he wanted it to: in the shadow of the mountain.

"Freaking _perfect_," he growled.

"What?" Enzo asked.

"I gotta plan."

* * *

><p>They parked the Kestrel in an empty field where the trees fell back as close to the base of the mountain as they could. Jason's plan was simple. It just required a little bit of patience and probably a fair amount of luck. He'd managed to tweak the LifeScan and have it scan for Prophet-specific life signs. Sure enough, there was just one in the base. He'd tagged the bastard with a nav marker and then headed in for a landing.<p>

Now, toting just a pistol and a sniper rifle, he and Enzo were making their way slowly but surely away from the field and into the treeline. They plunged into the underbrush, activating their cloaking units and keeping a sharp eye on the LifeScan monitors. The pair moved in quick silence, putting their stealth training to use once more.

As they progressed through the forest, Jason found himself thinking back to his time spent with Price. The aged, grizzled Spec Ops veteran had taught him a hell of a lot. Fast. They'd dropped in behind enemy lines more times than he cared to count. It had been about as fun as it was terrifying and challenging.

They had broken into Covenant camps, stolen critical data by hacking terminals or taking hostages. Sometimes they just planted bombs and blew supply depots or listening posts sky high, part of a much larger coordinated attack plan to punch a hole in the enemy's defenses and allow a huge strike force to get in. Sometimes there were assassinations. At first, Price had always been the sniper, Jason the spotter. But about halfway through, Price started letting him take on the role of sniper. He'd never missed. Not one intended target.

With all of the tech upgrades they had, Jason felt like this was a breeze compared to how it had been in the old days. Sure, it was still tough and tense at times, but it had _always_ been tough and tense then. They didn't have cloaking units and the best they could manage were motion trackers. While Jason missed Price, in his own way, he also knew how flat out dangerous the man was. The guy was a nutjob, and the worst kind: he was in perfect control of himself. You would have never guessed if you didn't meet him in a combat setting.

Jason couldn't imagine what Price would be doing without the war. He preferred not to think about it and instead enjoyed the fact that Price was so damned good at his job. He wondered, suddenly, what the man _was_ doing. Or if he was even still alive. Jason roused himself as his LifeScan spoke to him. He studied it, then listened to the environment as they drew closer to the source of the disturbance and discovered that yes, there was a Covenant patrol not too far ahead. Two Brutes and a small collection of Grunts.

Jason gestured to Enzo, indicating that he was going to snipe one Brute, and Enzo should take out the other with his little miracle knife. The Elite nodded sharply, pulling out the knife and flicking it on. Jason envied Enzo that knife, and promised himself, someday in the near future, he'd get one. Maybe after they got off the Ark.

_If_ they got off the Ark.

He raised the rifle and, once Enzo was crouched low and ready to spring, sighted and fired. The Brute's head disintegrated into a fine crimson mist, the body jerking sideways even as Enzo rushed forward in a frenzy of motion. Jason let his sniper rifle drop and hang by the sling, going for his pistol. Enzo leapt onto the back of the second Brute, who was just beginning to react to the rifle round, and stabbed the large alien in the neck.

Jason began working through the Grunts, killing them quick. He burned through the clip, managing to bring each down before they made too much noise or got away. Enzo and the Brute had tumbled to the ground, Enzo stabbing the Brute viciously in the back of the neck as they went down. He rose lithely to his feet, flicking the energy blade off. As the blade flickered out of existence, the droplets of blood attached to it fell away in a small rain across the ground. Wordlessly, the pair made sure there were no survivors, then moved on.

They managed to reach the base of the mountain without running into any more patrols, and lucked into finding a natural path that wound up along the front. Silently, the pair worked their way up it, occasionally running into Jackals in singles or in pairs. They ended each life silently, with a bullet or a blade. By the time they reached a high enough point, nearly an hour had elapsed. Jason called for a halt as soon as he spotted a small perch along the path. He activated the zoom function as he holstered his pistol and unslung the rifle.

He had a clear view of the camp, set up in a roughly cut out part of the forest. Several purple buildings, a few high, most low, were built around a large, circular structure in the center. As Jason knelt and began to set up the bi-pod for his sniper rifle, he wondered just what exactly they were digging up. That seemed to be a common thing with the Covenant. Digging. They were always digging, looking for something.

"Hey, Enzo," Jason murmured as he set up the rifle. "Why do the Covenant dig so much?"

"They were often looking for artifacts of the past, of the Forerunners. They are typically buried," Enzo replied, now in a low crouch, studying the camp through his own digital zoom.

"Okay, I guess that makes sense. But there's something I never really figured out, or maybe I have it figured out but just can't believe it. Tell me...what's the obsession with the Forerunners?"

"The Covenant worship them as gods, and believe that their relics and artifacts are holy and should be revered."

"Huh," was all Jason felt that he could say to that. Well, to each his own...except when it meant genocide. That wasn't cool.

"What about this war?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why are the Covenant trying to kill Humans?"

"Well, I..." Enzo fell silent. "To be honest, I am not completely sure. I was only ever ordered. I did not question these orders. And by the time I was in a mental state to question these orders, well...I was already part of the Rebellion."

Jason considered that for a moment, then got distracted by the nav marker. He'd found it, and, by extension, the Prophet. The bastard was riding high on a hovering chair, making for the central room. Jason grinned and zeroed the sights. He'd never make it there. Jason's finger caressed the trigger, waiting for just a few seconds as the digital scope took everything into account to give him a perfectly accurate shot.

He held his breath right before the scope had the Prophet.

He squeezed the trigger.

A second passed, and then the Prophet's llama-like head exploded in a huge plume of dark gore. The chair began to wobble, the Brutes all began running about, no doubt shouting, and Jason grinned darkly.

"Time to go," he said, immediately rising to his feet and breaking down the bi-pod. He and Enzo began hurriedly making their way down the path, towards the Kestrel.

One down, two to go.


	33. Part IV: Hitting Dirt

**Chapter 33  
><strong>_-Hitting Dirt-_

"Uh-oh."

"I don't like the sound of that sound."

"You shouldn't, we've got incoming."

Jason brought the Kestrel to a halt, hovering just half a kilometer over the surface of the Ark. He quickly checked the cloaking unit, to reassure himself it was still working. It was. Those Banshees might not be able to see him, but he was aware that cloaked things still showed up on motion trackers. You couldn't hide motion.

"What threat do we face?" Enzo asked. The big Elite had been dozing in the co-pilot's seat, but now looked completely awake and alert.

"Looks like Banshees. Half a dozen of them. They must be out on patrol."

Jason kept the Kestrel motionless, wishing vainly that they'd picked the Banshees up sooner. They were on a near collision course, but, the computer assured him, the Banshees would pass. Jason swallowed nervously. He was reasonably certain that, if pressed, the ship could stand up to half a dozen of the Covenant fighters. But, he cast a nervous glance back into the cargo bay, with that much explosive onboard, he didn't want to test it out.

Jason stared back through the windows. They were currently above the same heavily forested region, as it ran for several hundred kliks it seemed. They had been on their way to the second Prophet. The Banshees, previously a collection of purple dots against the backdrop of beautiful blue skies, were drawing nearer. Tension-laden silence encompassed them as they drifted closer. After a moment, Jason realized he was holding his breath.

He let it out slowly. The Banshees came within thirty meters. Distantly, he could have sworn he heard the traditional whining of their engines. Enzo was tense beside him, his muscles turning to tempered steel. The Banshees came closer. So far, their course was unaltered. Jason wished desperately he could back them off, but any movement would tip the bastards off. His hands were wrapped around the weapons controls, prepared to open fire at the drop of a hat.

One of the Banshees suddenly seemed to slow a little, and change course.

"Jason..." Enzo's voice was heavier than a mountain.

Jason swallowed, preparing himself, tightening his trigger fingers. The Banshee drifted closer, the tense seconds ticking by in unbearable eternities. Suddenly, right as it was almost about the collide with the, it let loose a great green gob of plasma.

"Shit!" Jason screamed.

There was no time to do anything except squeeze the triggers. He did, and the fuel rod round crashed into the cockpit, sending hairline fractures along the windows. The cloaking unit flickered, then died.

All bets were off. Jason tore the first Banshee to pieces with the minigun mounted on the nose. The thing burst under the concentrated fire, erupting in a brilliant blue-white display of plasma and pieces of what had once been a whole ship. They rained down onto the forest below, probably to start a severe forest fire.

The other Banshees immediately turned to face the Kestrel, and with that, the fight began.

Jason fired off a missile, one of the few they had, and watched a second Banshee turn into a brilliant burst of plasma. The Kestrel shuddered under heavy fire as the other four converged on his position and he jerked the thing sideways. Even with two of them down, Jason was already worrying that they weren't going to be able to win this one. He kept up the fire with the minigun, chewing through the reservoir of bullets.

Another Banshee exploded, spraying the now visible ship with molten shrapnel. Jason jerked the controls once more while Enzo clung grimly to his seat, unable to assist in the fight. They narrowly avoided another fuel rod round, but more plasma fire washed across the ship while Jason attempted to sight his fourth victim. Several flashing crimson lights became visible across the controls, and an irritating alarm filled the cockpit.

"Shit!" Jason shouted as another fuel rod round smashed into the side of the Kestrel. It immediately began listing to one side, and they could smell smoke. The fourth Banshee exploded as the missile locked on and leaped from its dark nest.

Jason made a split second decision.

"Enzo! Go back there, get as much stuff as you can and bring it up here!"

The Elite didn't hesitate, leaping from his chair and hurrying into the cargo bay. They weren't going to make it, and Jason didn't intend to be in the Kestrel when it hit dirt. He kept spraying with the minigun, but the Banshees were now dancing around, twisting and swerving in the air. They were both much more nimble than the human vessel. The computer chirped as it attained a lock on on a fifth Banshee.

Jason smashed the fire button and shot their last missile out. It shrieked into the air, leaving a thick trail of smoke, and smashed into the fifth Banshee within seconds. The thing was blasted into oblivion, transformed into so much twisted, burning metal. Jason turned the minigun on the last Banshee, but saw that it had taken advantage of the last missile launch. A green blob of plasma was on fast approach.

As Enzo reappeared with a crate full of supplies, the best he could manage, Jason again yanked the controls to one side. But too late: the plasma bomb connected with the side of the Kestrel, and all the alarms stopped at once.

"Oh, shit," Jason whispered.

They began to plummet from the skies. Jason shouted for Enzo to strap in as he ran through the ejection procedure. The door behind them slammed shut, and, as soon as the big Elite was secure, Jason smashed the button.

The cockpit shot away from the plummeting remains, now nothing but dead, inert metal, and immediately made for the treeline below. Jason tried his best to aim it towards the nav marker, not but a kilometer away now, but could do little more than fall. The cockpit had been given some thrusters, barely enough to slow their descent from fatal to merely extremely dangerous.

"Hold on!" Jason was yelling, praying for survival. "Hold on!"

They sheered into the treetops, carving straight through several of the smaller ones. The pair caught a lucky break and manage to find an opening in the trees, a small clearing, to crash into. They hit dirt with less speed than they would have without the thrusters and all at once everything was still and silent.

"You dead?" Jason asked after several moments of painful silence. One of the straps holding him to his chair had broken, and he was hanging at an awkward angle. He coughed.

"Not yet," Enzo replied.

Jason let out a sigh of relief. He unstrapped himself and collapsed forward onto the control panel. The nose of the cockpit was buried in dirt, the impromptu escape pod no doubt sticking up out of the ground like a strange flower. Jason stood best he could, popping his neck.

"Hey, I wonder what happened to the rest of the shi-"

A massive explosion rocked the area, sending tremors through the hull. Jason sighed.

"Fantastic," he muttered gloomily.

Slowly, the pair began to move about the ruined cockpit. Jason gathered what supplies he could while Enzo tried to pop the hatch. Several moments went by in dim quietude. Abruptly, with a grunt, the Elite had the hatch opened. Sunlight spilled in, giving the interior a dusty quality. Enzo grabbed the crate and stepped out, the barrel of his recovered carbine going out first. While he cleared the immediate area, Jason gathered up the remaining supplies.

"I don't see the Banshee," Enzo reported.

"Must've gone off to tell on us," Jason replied, finishing his inventory.

A moment later, he crawled out into the clearing and joined Enzo. They spent a few moments cataloging the meager supplies Enzo had managed to shove into the crate, and which hadn't been broken in the crash. By the time that they were ready, Jason was depressed. Not much had made it. He managed his silenced pistol with plenty of ammo to spare, a collection of grenades and his knife. His sniper rifle had been in the cargo bay, and the barrel of his SMG was bent and battered. Enzo only managed his carbine and energy knife.

Beyond that, they had a fair collection of explosives, with enough pockets to carry it all, and a pair of medical kits.

That was it. Jason sighed heavily as he finished securing everything. He turned to Enzo,

"I want you to take two of the C12 bricks and set it for detonation in the cockpit." The Elite stared at him, confused. "We can't let anyone else get their hands on the Kestrel, even part of it."

Enzo finally nodded and disappeared into the cockpit. Jason moved away, activating his comms unit. He hated to break comms blackout, but this was an important update. He recorded his message.

"This is Sergeant DuPree, reporting to the _Darkwind_. The Kestrel has been destroyed and one Prophet has been taken down. We're on approach to the second Prophet."

Once the message was recorded, he encoded it and sent it in a burst beam straight to the ship. The reply came back a minute later, as Enzo finished up his job.

_"__Affirmative."_ It was Bolt. He sounded disappointed.

Jason didn't blame him. He and Enzo began moving away from the cockpit and, once they had reached a safe distance, detonated the C12. With a pillar of smoke at their back, the pair of killers began to head towards the nav marker, and the Prophet.


	34. Part IV: Without Providence

**Chapter 34  
><strong>_-Without Providence-_

The walk went from fast to merely average. Jason and Enzo kept up a brisk pace, moving through the woods, keeping an eye out for Covenant. But the place remained vacant. Jason thought he could hear birds chirping, somewhere always nearby, but could never catch even a glimpse of colorful movement amongst the canopy.

"Have you thought anymore about the situation with your mate?" Enzo asked, attempting to strike up conversation.

Jason considered the matter, wondering why the Elite seemed so interested. He had to admit, as much time as he'd spent with Enzo, which was probably more than most Marines, or Humans for that matter, spent among the Elites, the big alien was still mostly an enigma.

"I have...why do you ask?" he replied finally.

"In all honesty, I am...curious, about Human customs and culture." Jason offered a short bark of laughter.

"I'm afraid you've come to the wrong Human, my friend. I'm about as uncultured as they come."

"Really? Interesting. In my experience, most Humans are much like yourself: honorable, battle-hardened, determined."

"That's...well, that's really nice of you to say, Enzo. I take that as a compliment. But there's more to us than war and honor and damned-headed determination...some of it good, most of it bad."

"Bad?"

"Well, you probably haven't seen the ugly side of Humanity. The liars, the thieves, the murderers, the cowards...trust me, there's a lot not to like about us. And as for being all about war and fighting...I'd like to say that that isn't true. But it seems like our history is riddled with stupid wars. When we weren't fighting you guys, we were always fighting each other, since the dawn of our particular timeline. But there are other things we're about."

"Like mating?" Jason let out another bark of laughter, this one louder.

"Well, yes. But there are a lot of, well, how would say it? Rituals? I guess, mating rituals...man, I have no idea what I'm talking about. See, we try to build relationships together. How you view your mate is different from how you view everyone else, at least, that's how it should be...but to answer your original question, Enzo, I _have_ thought more about it."

"And?"

"And...well, when we get back, _if_ we get back, I'm going to try harder at this relationship."

"We'll get back," Enzo assured him.

Both warriors perked up at the not so distant, unmistakeable sound of conflict. They quickened their pace, rushing off into the underbrush, through the trees. Jason listened, trying to discern the nature of the conflict. He could hear familiar, human voices shouting. Marines, maybe. Or ODSTs. Jason kept his pistol ready, wishing for something better, and led the way. Enzo kept his carbine to his shoulder, ready to fire off half a clip at the drop of a hat.

It wasn't long before the trees began to thin out, giving way to more combat. The pair came across bodies as they hurried in: Marines and Covenant. Jason began to try and figure out what was going on. A strike force? Taking out outer patrols, maybe. But what was their endgame? He felt a shock of fear ripple through his system. What if these idiots scared off the Prophet with their assault?

"Enzo, hit your cloaking, we'll be able to do this easier that way while the Marines keep the Covenant busy." The Big Elite nodded and, a few seconds later, faded from view. Jason hit his own, waited, and felt another cold chill stab at him when nothing happened.

"Shit! Mines not working!" he snapped.

"Fantastic," Enzo murmured. Jason sighed after trying it a few more times, then giving up.

"Alright Enzo...this is your job now. Get in there, find the Prophet, kill him. I'll do my best to look for him too and run interference."

"Affirmative, I'll keep in contact." And just like that, the Elite was gone.

Jason ran on through the forest. He broke through a treeline into a vast clearing, spotting an enormous purple structure rising ahead of him. It dominated his view and took up most of the camp. He figured it must have been the main excavation building. Several smaller structures, ranging in size from simple, one-room shacks to multi-storied buildings, were clustered around the base of the excavation building, taking up the rest of the clearing.

Jason found a compliment of Marines, numbering close to three dozen at a swift glance, taking on much more than that in Covenant forces. Jason began adding his own bullets to the mix, kicking off the whole thing with a pair of headshots that took two Grunts off their feet. He rushed forward, moving to join a pair of Marines hidden behind a stack of crates. They looked confused at first, but then happy for the help.

Jason popped around the crates and scouted the competition. A contingent of Grunts and Jackals, backed up by a group of Brutes, were making headway on his location with murder on their minds. Jason grabbed a pair of his frag grenades and hurled them in quick succession. The other two Marines tossed some of their own, and the trio popped around the corner and began firing as the grenades started to go off one after the other.

Most of the smaller Covenant were consumed by the flames, only added to by their own grenades and fuel tanks. The Brutes were staggered by the eruptions, and unable to recover in time as the bullets took them down.

"You guys seen a Prophet around by chance?" Jason asked as they hurried on, pushing deeper into the outpost.

"Yeah. Our scouts reported one near the main excavation site," one replied.

"What the hell are you guys doing here, anyway?"

"Orders from up top. We were supposed to seize the camp and figure out what the hell the Covenant were doing. We had the camp surrounded but, as you can tell, we got discovered and had to push the attack before they got the main building closed off. Where did you come from?"

"Long story. Killing now, talking later."

Jason punctuated his sentence by hurling a scavenged plasma grenade overhanded. It burst into brilliant blue-white and stuck fast to the chest of a charging Brute, which began to scream, the sound rising in pitch until its whole body was vaporized into a fine mist of burning gore. Jason pressed on, making his way in between a pair of supply sheds, pressing ever closer to that all important goal. He tried to raise Enzo on their radio.

"What's your sit-rep?" he asked, capping a pair of fleeing Grunts. One of the Marines he'd picked up hurled a frag grenade, blowing a continent of Jackals attempting to form a shield wall to bits and pieces.

_"__I have eyes on the Prophet. He is attempting escape on the far side of the main excavation structure towards a Phantom. I cannot draw a bead. I'm moving in for the kill."_

"Shit, roger that. I'm on my way."

Jason took off running, the Marines hurrying to catch up, following him in the way that Marines did when they came across ODSTs. In Jason's experience, they usually just assumed the ODST knew what he was doing. He was grateful for the backup. He came out the other side of a collection of supply shacks, entering a ring of open space, separating the rest of the camp from the central structure.

It was mass chaos, most of the surviving Marines had made it into that ring and were pressing their advantage, executing the Covenant, who were attempting to fall back into the drilling structure. Jason ignored all that chaos, he could just catch sight of a Phantom hovering around the curve of the huge building.

He took off, bolting through the madness of the battlefield. He dodged and dipped and narrowly avoided death a dozen times over. He leaped over the body of a falling Brute, putting a bullet in the back of its head as he went, hit the ground and shoved a fleeing Grunt, then kept running. Up ahead, he spied a trio of Brutes, seemingly intent on putting a stop to him. Without stopping, he primed and hurled a plasma grenade.

It stuck fast to the face of the center Brute, who began screaming. The grenade exploded and the lot of them were sent flying. Still Jason ran. He didn't have time for this, he had a mission. He kept pushing, sprinting and leaping over bodies, the gunfire and plasma bolts so thick around them he could have walked on them as he came around the curve of the building. With each passing second he could see a little bit more of the hovering Phantom. Somewhere, getting ever closer to it and the Prophet in question, was the cloaked Enzo.

He kept going, emptying his pistol, reloading it, and then emptying it again. He depleted his cache of grenades, hurling them one handed, usually over his shoulder to throw off any of the bastards that gave chase.

Suddenly, he had the Phantom dropship in full view. And knew, even as he pushed into overdrive and bolted forward, that he was too late. The Prophet, hovering in his damned throne, was making for security of the gravity lift. He was being backed up by a trio of heavily armed and armored Brutes.

Jason rushed forward and then grinned darkly as he spotted watery, nearly invisible movement near the Brutes. And, suddenly, one of them fell to the ground, dead from the stab wound in the back of his neck. Enzo's cloak fell away as he attacked, and the two surviving Brutes made for him. Jason focused his gunfire on the retreating Prophet. But the bastard was already halfway up the gravity lift. By the time Jason arrived on the scene, Enzo had managed to kill the two Brutes.

"Shit! He's getting away!" Jason cried.

"Not quite," Enzo replied, he was kneeling over one of the bodies, attaching something to it.

Jason realized it was Enzo's share of the explosives they'd salvage from the ship. Hardly before the grav lift shut off and the Phantom began to drift away, Enzo and Jason shoved the body, now fitted with C12, into it. The body disappeared into the belly of the ship. They watched as it begin to fly away, and then Enzo activated his detonator and the whole thing disappeared in a vast ball of angry red and brilliant blue-white flames.

"Not bad," Jason murmured, watching debris rain down from above. He returned his attention to the battlefield, only to find that it had fallen mostly silent: the Marines had won. What few of them remained. He began counting heads and got less than a dozen.

"Well, now what?" Jason asked, his exhaustion beginning to catch up with him. He knew he could keep going, for hours if he had to, but...there _was_ a limit. He prayed they managed to kill the last Prophet and get off the Ark before he reached that limit.

"We hack into the battlenet and find the location of the last Prophet, then get off this accursed Ark," Enzo replied, turning and making for the excavation building. Jason moved to join him and, as he did, caught a whiff of something particularly unpleasant. And deadly familiar.

"Do you smell that?" he whispered, horror creeping into his voice. Immediately, he began to search the treeline. Distantly, something growled.

"I do."

Suddenly, as if acting on some unseen cue, dozens of Flood began to burst forth from the treeline. The Marines started screaming and opening fire. Jason opened up a general comms channel as he ran.

"The central building! Make for the central building!"


	35. Part IV: Isolation

**Chapter 35  
><strong>_-Isolation-_

"Great! Just _great_!" someone was screaming.

Jason leaned against the purple frame of the door he'd just secured, his breath coming raggedly.

"What are we gonna do _now_?!" the voice demanded. There was discontent murmuring from the others. Jason had his eyes closed. He just wanted to massage his temples, pop a few painkillers and fall into a deep sleep.

"We're _screwed_!" Jason's eye twitched.

"Shut up!" he snapped, whirling to face the malcontent Marine. Silence reigned.

Jason stared at the domed, circular room that housed them. Outside, the Flood boiled and raged. Already, they could hear the muffled thumps of their deformed limbs. Jason scrutinized the survivors, studying what he had to work with. Besides Enzo, who he knew was solid, there were only a handful of Marines. Six in all. They were battered, bloodied and bruised things. Pallid men wrapped in green Ballistics armor that had seen too much. Jason sighed internally. It was up to him now. Well, first thing was first.

"Enzo, find some Covie comms and track down the last bastard."

The big Elite nodded tightly and set about hunting through the bank of equipment that inhabited the structure. Jason walked forward, studying the room. It was essentially a large catwalk ringing a deep hole in the earth. He came to stand at the edge, leaning against the railing, staring into the shaft. It went on for quite a ways, lit by rings of Covenant work lights.

An elevator shaft had been constructed down the center. It sat at the top, just begging to be used. Jason sighed.

"Orders, sir?" Jason turned.

The Marines had gathered behind him. Jason quickly studied them, familiarizing himself with their names. Corporal Burrows was the highest ranking, surprisingly the one who'd been freaking out. A pair of PFCs, Carter and Pierce, were both wielding shotguns. A lone Lance Corporal, Faraday, held a sniper rifle and stood a little away from the others. The last two in the group, Stanmore and Fisk, both Privates, were young but determined men with assault rifles.

Not too much to work with.

"We're going down as soon as we get our intel. We'll see what's down there and evaluate the situation as necessary."

If the men had any problems with the plan, they didn't voice them. Jason looked around at the corpses they'd produced upon entering. Not many Covenant had made it back to the safety of the structure. Outside, the Flood continued to rage. Jason wondered, idly, if the walls would hold. He tossed a glance at Enzo, who had located a radio and was working it intently.

"Spread out, stock up. We have no idea what's going to be down there," Jason called out.

The Marines split away from him. They began picking over the bodies, hunting for anything useful to replenish their depleted arsenals. Jason considered his own inventory. It was running low. He hunted through the remains, eventually settling on a Covenant Carbine. He'd never been entirely comfortable with point-and-spray weapons. Precision was more his thing. And the Carbine was as close as you could come in terms of close to mid-ranged combat for the Covenant. Jason settled on a few plasma grenades and clips, then joined Enzo.

"Found anything?" His Elite ally nodded.

"Yes, I've just tracked down our final target...here, let me show you."

Enzo backed away from the screen he was hovering over, which wasn't just a communications apparatus. The screen showed a holographic display of the Ark. Jason scrutinized it, staring at the blinking red dot that signified the Prophet. He activated his own personal database and sent the information in a burst transmission to the _Darkwind_ and combined the info with a request for a nav marker.

Sixty seconds later one appeared. Jason smiled.

"Excellent. Alright, let's take this elevator down and see where it goes." Enzo hesitated.

"Wouldn't this be a good time to call for backup?"

"No. You saw how many Flood are out there. Even the ODST team couldn't hope to clean out an infestation that size by themselves, or even with our help. And who knows what the rest of the forces are doing on this installation...probably something that won't allow them to break away and help us. I'm afraid we're still on our own, friend."

"Hmm," was all Enzo had to say to that.

They gathered in the elevator after making sure it was stable. Eight souls descended into the earth. Jason stared out of the windows of the box-shaped lift, waiting impatiently. Already, he was beginning to regret going down. But they sure as hell had nowhere else to go. The Marines were all fidgeting nervously and muttering darkly among themselves. Jason let them. It was a grim situation. Out of the frying pan and into the unknown.

They descended for what felt like eternity, crawling by at a snail's pace. For the longest time, the sides of the shaft were earthen with rings of work lights. Jason had long since gotten bored at staring at the strut supported shaft, so he was surprised when, abruptly, they came into a vast chamber made mostly of Forerunner metal.

"Holy shit!" Burrows cried, rousing everyone.

Jason could already see that the Covenant had set up camp. The expansive underground area was occupied by hovering towers, shade and plasma turrets, stacks of purple supply crates and simple, basic structures. As far as Jason could see, the only way in or out was the elevator shaft and one, large door across the way. The lift came to a resounding halt. The doors opened and the occupants within spread out.

"Spread and search," Jason murmured quietly.

Everyone split up, hunting through the camp for signs of survivors. The place was deathly quiet and sent uncomfortable shivers up and down Jason's spine. He went out on his own, his grip on the Carbine painful in its power. It was cold, but bright. The shadows were deep and spoke of malignancy. He wished vainly for a flashlight.

The warriors crept through the camp and regrouped at the far door.

"Place is a ghost town," Burrows muttered unhappily, still shooting suspicious glances at their surroundings, as if expecting something to come creeping out towards them at any moment.

"Looks that way...no sign of struggle, no plasma scoring. No blood. No bodies," Jason murmured, eying the door. It was a massive thing of inert auburn metal. A light pad off to the side of it beckoned.

"So, what do we do?" Burrows asked. Everyone looked expectantly at Jason.

"We'll press on. But, before we do," he turned to Enzo. "Try to find a Covenant terminal, hack in. See if they managed a map of this place...or if they kept any records. Everyone else, gather up any supplies you think might be useful."

Again, the group split up. They moved across the camp once more, drenched in unsettling gloom and dreary silence. They picked over the slim remains of what the original Covenant expeditionary force had left behind, adding to their already meager inventory. Jason couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Eventually, he found himself hanging around Enzo, who was patiently sorting through the local Covenant database.

"Find anything?"

"The advance teams were thorough in their mapping of this subterranean system...it is truly a vast network of tunnels. I am attempting to find another way back up to the surface. I've also discovered a log, transcribed, of the investigation. From what I can tell they encountered...something, in the tunnels. They didn't say what, only that it was one thing, not many. It took out entire teams...one man at a time. There were never any remains, though. It was as if the men simply...disappeared. Ah! I've found it."

Enzo stepped back, indicating an intricate holographic display of the complex network of corridors and rooms. Jason studied it for several moments. Despite how difficult it looked, he realized it wouldn't be too much of a chore to navigate. Both he and Enzo planned the route to the surface in their head. There was another elevator, a Forerunner one, several hundred meters away. Once they had it memorized, Jason rallied the troops.

They accessed the large door and plunged into the corresponding tunnel beyond. It was a huge thing, lit by some strange form of ambient luminescence that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

Jason and Enzo led the small party of survivors through the vast tunnels. They moved quickly and quietly, hunting for any signs of...whatever it was had taken away all the Covenant. Minutes ticked by in forbidding gloom. Despite being a huge, open space, the tunnels seemed to consume any sounds rather than produce echoes.

Everything was uncomfortably quiet. Every breath, every clink of armor bumping against armor, every quiet mutter, grated sharply on Jason's ears and nerves. Despite the enhancements of the armor, his training and his own natural ability to detective anomalous noises, he couldn't hear a damned thing outside of the group, save for a soft, hushed murmur of power and air. Jason grew frustrated and apprehensive as they continued on, the feeling of being watched morphed from merely uncomfortable to stifling and overwhelming.

The first man to disappear was Fisk.

It occurred to Jason, probably a little later than it should have, to have sound offs every five minutes. To make sure that everyone was there. They were nearly twenty minutes into the ordeal when he halted and turned to check and see if everyone was still there. He did a headcount and came up one short.

"Where's Fisk?" The others began to look around suddenly, their movements sharp and rigid.

"He was _right _behind me," Stanmore muttered incredulously.

They called out to the missing Private, first off the radio, then on it. Neither method provoked a response. They wasted another ten minutes hunting around, first back the way they had gone, then into a few smaller side tunnels, burrowed into the walls. They all ended in curious rooms of glowing, glistening technology wreathed in pads of light and humming quietly with power. Jason ultimately decided that Fisk was gone, and ordered the men to keep a tighter formation. Sullenly, and more nervous than before, they continued on.

That's when it really started to get terrifying. With just one hundred and fifty meters of tunnel left to go, Jason finally heard something. It was a quiet murmuring. At first, he thought it was just another one of the men, talking to another or quietly muttering to himself. But there was something...different about it. He fixated upon it and quickly discovered that the voice was not, by any stretch of the imagination, human.

He held up a fist and caused everyone to freeze. The Marines were nervous. They'd just had their five minute check in, and everyone was still there.

"Listen," Jason growled.

They listened. At first, the murmuring fell away, leaving only silence. But then it came back, stronger than before. Everyone heard it. Jason began to look around, almost frantically. Fear rose swiftly in his chest. He finally spotted something, high up on the ceiling above them. It was nothing more than a flicker of darkness, like a shadow, but it was definitely there.

"I saw it, too," Enzo whispered.

"Let's get out of here. Pick it up, Marines!" Jason snapped.

They hurried on. The collection broke into a light jog, but at the next five minute check in, Stanmore was gone.

"Did anyone see him go?" Jason asked.

"If we did, you would've heard about it," Burrows replied glumly.

Seeing that nothing could be done, Jason had them resume their journey. They stopped jogging and began running. The murmuring was back now, so loud it could be heard over the heavy breathing and running footfalls. It spoke in an inhuman voice, in a language none of them had ever heard before and could never hope to understand. It wanted them.

For what reason, Jason had no idea. He planned on never finding out. As they crossed the fifty meter mark, Burrows let out a short scream that was abruptly cut off. They didn't stop running, but Jason glanced over his shoulder. He could see dark movement, something shadowy and the color of outer space, flickering along the wall, just behind them. It seemed to disappear as soon as he focused intently on it.

They kept running, at this point in a dead sprint. When they came to the lift at the end of the corridor, Jason hit the light pad and spun around, raising his weapon. He was greeted by the sight of only Enzo and Lance Corporal Faraday. The trio hurried into the left as something shadowy flickered along the ground about twenty meters back, moving with ominous speed towards them. Once they were in, Jason hit the up button and nearly collapsed.

"Now what?" he muttered unhappily as they ascended towards the unknown.


	36. Part IV: Final Target

**Chapter 36  
><strong>_-Final Target-_

The elevator rose to the surface and Jason breathed in a breath of fresh air. Sunshine. Honest sunshine. Despite having only seen it less than an hour ago, it felt like much longer. The elevator brought them to, of all things, a temple. An honest-to-God temple, made out of bricks.

"Interesting," Enzo murmured, studying the area.

Jason left him to it. For now, they appeared to be alone. Jason planted the rest of the C12 charges they had on them around the elevator and gave the detonator to Faraday, telling him to stay there and keep guard, just in case the Thing Without A Name decided to follow them up. He then set out to follow Enzo and secure the area.

Minutes passed by in quiet solitude. Jason's suspicions were confirmed: they were alone at the base. But it was obvious that the Covenant had been there. They'd converted the site into a makeshift camp. The temple was roughly rectangular and two storied. Jason checked both of them out, and all the little rooms and corridors within. They were all empty, except for the Covenant using some of them for storage. Which was interesting, Jason thought at least. Considering how the Covenant revered and worshiped places like this.

Outside was another story. At one point, the Covenant had obviously occupied the area in bulk. There were hovering towers, some of which had crashed to the ground, defense turrets, stacks of crates and small, makeshift one-room, one-story buildings. Little more than sheds or shacks. There were also vehicles and-

_"__Jason, you should come around to the other side of the Temple."_

Enzo's voice sounded happy, not ominous. Jason broke into a light jog and hurried around the bulky structure. What he saw made him grin.

"Life just got a whole lot easier," he murmured.

A Phantom dropship hovered silently a few meters in the air, the gravity lift still on and intact. Jason wondered if anyone was inside. If they were, they were in for an unpleasant surprise. Jason went back to relieve Faraday, took the detonator from him and the trio made their way for the Phantom.

"I assume you can fly it," Jason said. Enzo showed his growing understanding of human culture by rolling his eyes. Jason was impressed.

Enzo stepped into the gravity beam and was slowly lifted upwards. Faraday was next, making a similar ascension. Jason began to step into it, then hesitated. He turned and reached into his pocket, facing the temple again. For the hell of it, he pulled out the detonator and, pausing only briefly, pressed the button.

The temple began to come apart at the seams as a series of explosions ripped through it, spewing sprays of debris every which way. Jason stepped back into the beam and allowed it to carry him up, watching the architectural carnage. By the time he came aboard, the other two had secured the interior and Enzo was in the pilot's seat.

"What was that?" Faraday asked.

"I blew the charges," Jason replied. Enzo made a sound, somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle, and began to bring the Phantom away from the site. Jason moved forward to stand in the oddly-shaped cockpit, leaning down and hovering just over Enzo's shoulder.

"Where do we go?" the Elite asked. Jason consulted the nav marker, then pointed him in the right direction and got a rough approximation of how long it would take to get there, which was little over an hour.

Hopefully, the Prophet wouldn't relocate too much before then.

Jason took the opportunity to relax. Enzo seemed content enough to be left alone at the controls. Jason went back to see what Faraday was up to. The Lance Corporal was seated among all the purple metal, cleaning his sniper rifle. He glanced up. The man looked too young and haunted, his flesh pallid and taut. He reminded Jason of himself.

"Faraday," Jason said, taking a seat next to him. "How'd you end up on the Ark?" Faraday seemed to consider this before responding.

"Well, I happened to be in Voi when the Flood hit. I had been called back to Earth right after the first Covenant invasion in New Mombasa," he explained.

"I was at both of those places," Jason replied. Faraday seemed interested.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I was...helping ONI procure a target of high importance in New Mombasa, and...well, honestly, doing the same thing in Voi. I barely made it out when the Elites glassed it."

"Me too. I managed to make it to a last chance PZ and when I got onboard, they told me I was going to the Ark. I wasn't really in any position to argue." Faraday fell silent. The Phantom rumbled gently around them for several moments. "What are you doing here?"

"Assassinating Prophets," Jason replied. Faraday's eyes widened.

"Really? Holy shit, that's serious business."

"It seems so. Me and Enzo here have already taken down two...help me take down the last one, and I'll see if I can't get you promoted or a medal or something." Faraday chuckled.

"I'd settle for two weeks vacation and a brothel at this point," he replied grimly. Jason nodded in sympathy. Despite his misgivings about his relationship with Veronica, he was already desperately missing the sex.

Jason decided it was time for a nap, and tried to dream of Veronica naked.

* * *

><p>Jason awoke to chaos. It's how he usually awoke, it seemed.<p>

"Get up! We're nearing the target!" Enzo shouted, both over the radio and back into the cargo hold. Jason and Faraday were on their feet in an instant. While Faraday prepped himself for combat, Jason hurried forward.

"What's going on?" He stared out of the view screen and spotted a large, heavily fortified Covenant encampment built around a Forerunner ruin. Desert sands surrounded it on all sides for what appeared to be forever. The base was under heavy attack by waves upon waves of Flood.

"See for yourself," Enzo replied. "Do you have a visual on the bastard Prophet?" Jason scrutinized the area, attempting to match up the nav marker with the environment. He spotted it moving out of the central structure, towards, presumably, the collection of Phantoms and Banshees not too far away.

"There!" he roared. "Bring us down right on top of the bastard, light him up!"

Enzo did as he was told, moving forward over the Flood and Covenant, locked in eternal combat. It looked as if the Flood were winning. Several streams of bullets and plasma bolts shot up after them. Jason couldn't tell who was firing. Then a rocket flew past the view screen, narrowly avoiding hitting the ship.

"Hurry," Jason muttered.

The Phantom was brought in low and fast, screaming over the battlefield and nearly hitting the central structure, which was an enormous thing of burnished silver metal. It was flat on top with ramps leading up the sides. It looked as if a lot of Covenant were preparing to make something of a last stand there.

Plasma fire raked across the Prophet's location as Enzo opened fire. The hovering, llama-looking bastard was almost to a grav lift. Almost to his escape. Jason prayed he didn't make it. The plasma fire burned through a pair of his Brute bodyguards. The survivors turned and immediately began to open fire on the Phantom.

Their shots did little damage, but they kept up their fire. Jason watched in rapt tension as Enzo brought the plasma shots closer and closer to the hovering Prophet, who was almost there. Abruptly, right before the bolts hit their target, the Phantom lurched crazily to one side as something powerful exploded across its hull.

"What was that?!" Jason snapped. Enzo attempted to realign the cannon, but another explosion, this one much more powerful, rippled across the Phantom. All at once, Jason realized the awful truth. They were going down.

They had failed.

Before smashing into the ground, Jason watched the Prophet ascending into the belly of the Phantom, escaping his fate.


	37. Part IV: Hard Run

**Chapter 37  
><strong>_-Hard Run-_

The Phantom smashed into the ground. Not with enough force to knock any of the three occupants within unconscious, but enough to rend the air from their lungs. Jason gasped, groping for his weapons. There was very little time. A large hole had been torn in the bottom of the dropship, which was now lying on its side.

Sunlight, mottled with whorls of dust, spilled in. The sounds of combat could be heard, getting closer. Jason only managed to find his pistol before heading towards the hole. Enzo and Faraday were recovering deeper within. He had to buy them time. Thoughts of the escaping Prophet were shoved aside for the moment.

A Combat Form wielding a shotgun stepped into the hole, making awful growling noises. It raised the shotgun. Jason emptied the pistol clip into the thing's chest, punching an ugly, bloody hole clean through it. The Combat form fell aside. Jason holstered the pistol without reloading and snatched up the shotgun.

He quickly checked it. Found it full. It would do.

"Let's get a move on!" he roared as a second and third Combat Form appeared in the hole. He blasted away the first. Cocked the shotgun and repeated the process.

"Coming!" Faraday groaned. The ODST was suddenly beside him, sniper rifle in hand.

"That's not going to be any good," Jason said, remembering the combat report he'd read on the Flood. "Sniper rounds travel too fast to do any real damage to them, or some such shit. Here." He handed Faraday a discarded battle rifle.

"This thing is perfect. Aim for the chest." Faraday nodded. Enzo appeared with a Carbine.

"Shall we go?"

Jason didn't bother with a response, instead opting to let his actions speak. He blasted away a fourth Combat Form as he made for the hole, then pushed out into the brilliant sunlight. Blood-drenched sands, littered with corpses from both sides, stretched away from them. Up ahead, he could see the silver structure, glittering brilliantly in the alien light. Immediately, Jason knew that they hadn't a hope in hell of going after the Prophet.

The Covenant were dying. The Flood were sticking to the truth in their name: they were coming in waves. There were dozens of them.

"Make for the central structure!" Jason roared, and began running. The others hastened to follow. They opened fire as little as possible, trying to let the Flood finish off what Covenant there were left and give them every precious second.

While they ran, Jason wasted no time. If there was a moment where he needed back up, it was now. He sent the call up to the _Darkwind_, with a rough description of the situation that instructed Echo Team to make for the central structure as quickly as they could and be wary of Flood. They were almost there as he sent out the data packet.

It would be less than two minutes now. They reached the nearest ramp, curving around and leading up the structure. Jason got there first, blasting off an infected Elite on the way up. The rest of the way was clear. The trio pounded up the ramp, desperate for survival. Jason was the first one up, spotting a collection of Brutes, the sole survivors of the Covenant occupation, duking it out with an overwhelming force of Flood.

Jason focused on the Flood for the moment, letting the Brutes get picked off one by one. He heard Enzo make a noise of dark glee and caught a peripheral of the Elite rushing over to a corpse and picking something up.

It was an energy sword.

Jason suddenly felt a lot better. Behind him, he could hear Faraday picking off targets with his battle rifle, covering their rear. He and Enzo moved forward, intent on cleaning up the resistance that remained atop the structure.

Jason emptied the shotgun too quickly for his liking, abandoning it for the moment and grabbing his pistol. It was running low on ammo, too. He reloaded and kept going, backing Enzo up. The Elite was a thing of fury. The Brutes had been finished off and now the Flood were making headway towards the last three survivors.

Enzo moved with a disturbingly fluid grace that would have been envied by Samurais of old. He slashed and sheered straight through the nearest Combat Form, neatly severing the upper torso from the rest of the body. Another Flood took a swipe at him. Enzo neatly dodged and brought the energy blade around in another tight, clean arc. The Flood's arm fell away. In another swipe it, too, fell away from Enzo in two pieces.

He kept at it. Jason emptied his pistol and began looking around frantically for another suitable weapon. Behind him, he could hear those reassuring three-round bursts. He didn't know how long it would keep up for. Overhead, off his peripheral, something bright caught his attention. He glanced skywards.

Eight brilliant pinpoints of light, drop pods burning through the atmosphere, could be seen. Jason was certain that he'd never been so happy to see those ODST pods. They were closing in fast. Jason located a Carbine, presumably Enzo's, abandoned in his glee of discovering the sword, and snatched it up.

He spotted another clutch of Combat Forms, having come up along the secondary ramp, and opened fire. He blew their chests out, sending the quartet of them tumbling backwards. Enzo never seemed to tire, a constantly dancing figure amongst many, untouched and seemingly untouchable. But Jason knew they couldn't keep this up forever.

More and more Flood were coming to the top of the structure. An explosion ruptured behind him. Jason spun, spotting Faraday priming another grenade and hurling it into a fresh batch of Combat Forms making their way up the ramp. The second frag grenade exploded in a fiery display of metal fragments, flame, smoke and Flood bits.

All at once, the eight pods slammed into the earth. The Flood, preparing to overrun Jason's position, seemed to notice this new threat. The dozen or so Flood atop the structure remained, but no more came atop. Not so far away, Jason could hear the sound of pod doors popping sharply opening, followed swiftly by the bark of rifles.

He smiled grimly. They might just make it out of this. He, Enzo and Faraday quickly finished off the remainder of the Flood assailing them. They then snatched up whatever long range weapons they could and any ammo they could find. Jason found another battle rifle, his preferred weapon, and passed the Carbine off to Enzo.

The three hurried to the edge of the Forerunner building and provided cover fire for the ODST squad battling their way towards the structure. It was chaos down there. Jason felt guilty, just for a moment, for calling them in. It was immediately erased however, when he saw the maddened glee with which the squad was cutting through the Flood. They were eager for battle, he surmised, and must have hated being kept aboard the _Darkwind_.

Minutes passed by, measured in bullets and corpses. Jason emptied his battle rifle, twice having to scavenge for more ammo amongst the ravaged corpses. Echo Squad was making short work of the ravenous horde of Flood, smartly blasting holes in every chest and carefully popping Carrier Forms at a distance.

Grenades erupted, spewing limbs and blood and chunks of flesh in every direction. Coagulated blood flew upon the air, adding to the mess. The alien sun shined down on it all with cold indifference. By the time Jason returned from his third scavenge, finding only two clips this time, he found that the ODSTs were marching up the ramps.

After that, it was only another five minutes of heavy gunfire before the remainder of the armada of Flood were finished off. Jason had to give it to them, they were a formidable foe: fighting to literally the last 'man'.

He was grimly satisfied to see that not one of the ODSTs had fallen in combat. Although a few already looked a little worse for the wear. Their slick black armor was splashed with blood and stained with the dregs of combat.

"Well...that was worth the wait," Bolt said when the silence had settled down around them. Jason chuckled.

"I hope so, we've got a Prophet to catch," he replied, already eying a collection of Banshees, seemingly untouched by the conflict. Bolt followed his gaze and nodded tightly.

"Let's get a move on, Helljumpers!"

* * *

><p>They were in the air, a collection of purple dots against a desolate, desert landscape. There had been just enough Banshees for all eleven of them. They were pushing the Covenant vehicles as hard as they could. The Prophet had a hell of a lead of them, but Jason was at least glad to see that the meter counter accompanying the nav marker was slowly counting down. Slowly, but surely, they were gaining on the evil bastard.<p>

He wouldn't get away. Jason wouldn't let him.

Time continued to pass. Jason tried to kill it faster with conversation.

"Bolt, what's been happening?" The Sergeant's voice was heavy over the radio.

_"__Lots...The Master Chief hit the Ark like a bat outta Hell and has been tearing up Covenant ass for a while. The Brutes have been engaging the Elite and Human Fleets in space over the Ark. We've been outnumbered, but we're doing good. The Chief managed to locate the Cartographer, which provided a map of the Ark and lit up all the important bits. From what I heard, he took the Elites and Johnson and cracked through a big barrier surrounding the Control Room. They went after Truth and finally put a stop to that bastard._

_"__Then the Flood showed up."_

"So...the Covenant's done for?" Jason asked.

_"__Seems that way."_

"I wonder why they haven't told us...do we even need to kill this Prophet now?"

_"__We are not abandoning our mission."_ Enzo's voice was set and grave. Jason felt his emotions grow colder.

"No, we're not," he agreed.

_"__Glad to hear it. I've been cooped up on that ship for too long, waiting to get some payback,"_ Bolt said.

They flew on.

* * *

><p>As the marker dipped down below a hundred meters, a cluster of purple things appeared on the horizon. Further beyond them, Jason could see enormous, darkly colored things marring the seemingly eternal miles of desert landscape.<p>

He realized, as they drew closer, that they were ships. Cruisers from both sides of the conflict. There must have been a dozen of them, broken up over a several mile length across the desert.

"My God," he whispered.

_"__Remnants of the conflict overhead,"_ Bolt said.

_"__A metal graveyard, then,"_ Enzo added quietly.

The cluster of purple dots coalesced into something more substantial: a Phantom dropship being escorted by nearly a dozen and a half Banshees. Jason grew grim, preparing for one hell of a battle. In the distance, near the edge of the graveyard, he could see a Covenant cruiser hovering. It must be the Prophet's escape plan.

Jason had no intention of letting him get there.

"Engage targets."

His small fleet of Banshees hurried forward. As they did, a dozen of the enemy Banshees broke away from the cluster, making their way back towards them. So that was their game. Jason growled, gripping the controls firmly, preparing himself for the worst. Seconds passed in tense, dread-laden apprehension.

The pair of small fleets slammed into one another with flares of plasma.

Jason opened fire, opting to send a fuel rod round arcing out into the nearest Banshees. He watched it hit dead on and rupture something vitally important in the enemy Banshee as it began sagging towards the ground, eventually becoming one more pile of useless, sparking wreckage amongst the ruins of the graveyard.

As far as he was concerned, a good start. Then the other Banshees returned fire. Jason yanked his controls up and away, then savagely came back down, opening fire on one of the enemy ships. Around him there was chaos, two dozen Banshees going at it in the air like a swarm of angry, warring bees. Plasma boiled everywhere, cutting lances through the air, sometimes striking purple metal hulls, mostly not.

The dogfight raged on. Jason weaved around, trying to get the upper hand over whatever Brute had chosen to take him down. He whipped the Banshee around sharply, narrowly avoiding a fuel rod round and viciously brought it back around to face his attacker. His muscles felt tense and ache from the maneuvers. He lined up his shot and let loose with his own fuel rod round. The enemy Banshee tried to dodge, but not fast enough.

The round hit its wing at a glancing blow, knocking it wildly off course. Jason finished it off with a concentrated burst from his plasma cannons and watched the thing blossom into an eruption of blue-white plasma. As they finished cleaning up the attack force, he called for a report. North was the only one who didn't report in, and Bolt gravely informed Jason that the Corporal had gone down somewhere in the fighting. Jason felt emotions tugging at him, but knew there was no time. They had a job to do.

"Let's move!" he roared as the last Banshee went down.

The Phantom and remaining Banshees were halfway across the graveyard. Jason's own fleet hurried after them. They closed the distance quickly. Below them, chaos was boiling. There seemed to have been survivors from the various crashes. Lots of them. The Covenant, Elite and Human survivors were all engaged in a vicious battle. To make matters worse, lots of Flood were pouring into the spaceship graveyard.

Jason returned his attention to the Phantom and the Banshees. As they came within range, he instructed Echo Team to focus on the Banshees while he, Enzo and Faraday would close in on the Phantom and bring it down.

The plan went into action. Jason, Enzo and Faraday moved in fast and vicious. They took out the Phantom's plasma cannons first before focusing on its engines. While they were flying around, hitting it again and again with plasma fire and fuel rod rounds, Jason heard Williams scream over the radio about the same time as he spotted one of the friendly Banshees explode in a brilliant ball of ruptured plasma.

Another one down, he thought grimly. He returned his attention to the task at hand. They had to do this. He fired off another round, and was rewarded with a violent explosion. Instead of the Phantom completely blowing up, however, it merely began to lose altitude.

"Shit!" Jason roared. It would crash. He watched the Phantom disappear amongst the ruins, hitting dirt with a satisfying crunch. He and the others prepared to pound the ship with more gunfire. Jason checked in on the others and found that they had finished mopping up the last of the resistance. Bolt's voice suddenly erupted onto the radio.

_"__We've got problems!"_

Jason began to ask what, but then saw it. An army of Sentinels, hovering machines native to the Forerunner installations, began to descend from every which way on the graveyard. There were dozens of them, hundreds maybe. A collection of them focused golden beams of energy directly on Faraday's Banshee. It exploded almost immediately.

"Oh shit! Down, everyone land! Now!"

He hurried towards the crash site of the Phantom. Enzo followed. He dodged the narrow golden beams of light as much as he could, but felt the Banshee shuddered each time one came in contact with the hull. Warning lights began flaring, and a small alarm started sounding. Jason barely made it to the ground before the thing lost power completely.

He quickly hopped out of the now dead Banshee and looked around. He was amidst a collection of hulls and equipment, scattered remains of a once epic battle. Overhead, the Sentinels amassed, opening fire on friend and foe alike. Jason spotted Enzo. Together, the two of them hurried towards the remains of the downed Phantom.

Jason could already tell the Prophet had escaped it and was moving away. The nav marker was growing farther away. He called for the ODSTs to get to his position, making his way around the Phantom, trying to get a visual on the Prophet. He failed, and the nav marker was growing further away, over thirty meters, by the time the surviving ODSTs had gathered. They looked haggard and harried, but still strong.

"Dixon and Cruz are dead," Bolt reported grimly. Jason offered no more than a nod.

"Come on, he's close by. We need to get to him and finish this," he growled. Bolt nodded back, intent on not letting his men's death be in vain.

Together, the survivors plunged into the graveyard.

The way was tough and wrought with danger. Around every corner seemed to be something new. Jason knew they had to be careful, in case there were any Human or Elite survivors around, but with all the corpses mounting up and the fleet of death dealing machines overhead, he held out little hope for _himself_, let alone anyone else.

They followed a trail of death. It seemed more than the Prophet survived. There was no doubt a small collection of highly trained Brute bodyguards trying desperately to keep him safe. Jason planned on making them fail at their job. He'd managed to get a battle rifle and a shotgun, opting for the shotgun at the moment.

The collection of five black-clad ODSTs and one Elite rushed on recklessly. They hurried in between huge pieces of debris, large, blackened parts of enormous hulls or ruined vehicles. The bodies were everywhere. Jason fired the last shell in his shotgun into the torso of a Combat Form, just around another corner, and blew the thing's chest out.

He quickly reloaded, feeding shells into the weapon. They were closing in. There was somewhere between ten to fifteen meters of distance between them and the Prophet. They could hear the sounds of conflict up ahead and, somewhere in that chaos, a Prophet's voice. Jason lead them onwards.

He heard growling overhead about the same time he heard Falcheck let out a sharp bark of pain. He spun and spotted a Combat Form standing over him, having landed on him from above. Enzo put it down with a sideways swipe of his plasma sword. Everyone covered Bolt while he checked the ODSTs vitals. He looked up, shook his head.

"Broken neck." Jason growled and they pressed on.

No time. They had no time. Overhead, the Sentinels rained down death from above. They seemed to be content with massacring the Flood for the moment, keeping away from the Humans. Jason was glad enough to let them keep to it. He hurried on, desperation in his pounding footsteps. The others struggled to keep up.

Jason ran on recklessly. He wanted off this Ark. He wanted to go home. He wanted Veronica. He wanted food and a shower and to sleep for a few days. Some part of him knew he'd live to regret this want, that the killing fields would always call to him. But another part, a louder part, didn't care. More than anything, he wanted relaxation.

All at once, the debris seemed to fall away, leading to a large, open area littered with smaller bits of hull, providing cover. The Prophet. Jason saw him, all at once, halfway across the clearing with a clutch of Brutes.

Jason got the whole thing started with his last plasma grenade. He hurled it, attempting to stick that hovering chair the Prophets were so fond of, and instead managed to get the back of a rear guard Brute instead. In a surprising show of loyalty and intellect, the Brute threw himself away from the others. The explosion consumed him.

The Prophet hurried on, two of the Brutes going off with him, with the others broke away to cover his escape. Jason had no intention of letting him get away. Everyone broke to cover and the next several minutes were wasted playing a game of what Jason liked to call pop-n-shoot. He popped up over the cover and fired, then slid back down.

Plasma and bullets were flung every which way. The Brutes began to go down, one by one. Jason sighted as many of the bastards as he could. There were only half a dozen of them, but they were tough. He put a three-round burst through one of their skulls, sending the big, ugly ape crashing to the earth. He heard a sharp shout of pain and something warm and sticky sprayed across his side. He spared a glance to his side, spotting Collins.

The man was on his back, writhing around, a line of Spiker rounds stitching a bloody column up his torso. Abruptly, he grunted, once, and stopped moving. The PFC was dead. Jason refocused. Down to just two of them now, besides him and Enzo. The last Brute fell. Jason took off running, not even bothering to pause and see if the others were following.

He heard running footsteps behind him as he raced across the clearing and plunged into another narrow alcove of debris. The Prophet hadn't gotten too far. Beyond the graveyard, closer than ever, the Covenant cruiser loomed. Jason thought he could hear a Phantom nearby. He rushed on, pressing himself harder than ever.

He and the others broke into another clearing, smaller than before. The Prophet was continuing his escape. Jason raised his battle rifle, fired, took one of the Brutes down with a well placed trio of shots to the back of its skull. The final Brute turned. It was holding a gravity hammer. It issued a roar, a bellow of fury, and charged at them.

Jason narrowly avoided the bulky tip of the hammer as it was swung at him. He dove out of the way, and there was a loud crash of gravity, followed by the sound of a solid crunch. The power of the attack forced him to roll a few more feet. He scrambled to his feet, just in time to see the Brute, taking several shots directly to the chest, bring the hammer down on Bolt. Weldon's body, unmoving, was in the distance.

Bolt went down, his skull crushed in instantly. Enzo appeared at the Brute's side, slashed once, expertly with his sword, and beheaded the Brute. Its head fell away. The body stumbled, nerves twitching, blood fountaining from the stump of a neck. The body collapsed. Jason and Enzo glanced at each other, briefly, then bolted.

The Prophet was almost gone.

Rushing through one more tunnel of debris, they burst out the other side into a third and final clearing. A Phantom hovered over it, grav lift in place. The Prophet was heading for it. Jason didn't give him the chance. He rushed forward and leaped into the air, tackling the Prophet right off of his hovering chair. They both went to the ground in a tangle of thrashing limbs. Jason went for his combat knife, ready to finish the job, but he suddenly felt a sharp, hot pain in his stomach, and his hands suddenly refused to work.

He gasped, and fell back. The Prophet was laboring to get to his feet, holding a plasma based energy knife. He had a look of grim satisfaction on his face.

"Not so brave are you now, Imp?" A look of surprise abruptly shot onto the Prophet's face as the twin tips of Enzo's blade burst through his chest in a thick spray of blood. The Prophet glanced down and coughed, once, then collapsed to the ground.

"Jason!" Enzo cried, dropping to his friend's prone form. Jason was clutching desperately at his gut. He was bleeding, tremendously. Enzo abandoned the flickering plasma blade, which was nearly out of power, and grabbed Jason.

"Don't worry! I'll get you out of here," he growled. "Well make it, Jason!"


	38. Part V: Dressed Up

_**Part Five: A Downward Spiral**_

**Chapter 38  
><strong>_-Dressed Up-_

Jason watched the Human-Covenant War come to an end from a bed in the infirmary.

It had been one hell of a close call. The knife had ruptured one of his kidneys. If it wasn't for the emergency medical team waiting for him onboard the _Darkwind_, he wouldn't have made it off of the Ark. As it was, he was laid up for two weeks in an infirmary aboard the _Say My Name_ once he'd made it back to Earth. Veronica had demanded it. She came to visit him often and usually spent the night. She didn't hold it against him that he was physically too weak for sex. When he got out of the infirmary, he made it up to her.

Three months passed. Jason felt out of sorts. The war was over. It took a long time for that to set in. Earth was safe. The Covenant was broken. The Flood dead and gone, no longer a threat. No one had been able to find the Master Chief...but war had its casualties. So as the days bled into weeks, Jason found things to do.

He spent time with Veronica. He worked on his relationship with her. He trained himself, kept his body in top shape and told himself that, someday, he was going to be a killer again. He hunted for Bennings relentlessly at first, but the man seemed to have disappeared. When he prodded Veronica for information, she only said that he had been transferred. She couldn't find anything else. No one came forward to tell Jason what Bennings had promised him before his trip to the Ark. The unknown situation grated on Jason's mind.

A month in, he, Veronica and Enzo were transferred from the _Say My Name_ to the space station _Cairo_. The ship, apparently, was needed elsewhere. As time bled on in that way that it always did, Jason could feel his relationship with Veronica slowly crumbling. It was a tentative thing, the nagging feeling, but it was persistent.

He noticed it when he began to spend more time working out or walking the vast network of corridors with Enzo, talking about their respective pasts and potential future. He noticed it in every argument that began to blossom over little things. He noticed it when he went to bed instead of waiting up for Veronica to get back from the ONI center aboard the station. The more he noticed it, the less he fought it.

Jason knew that he still loved Veronica. But he was beginning to suspect that, perhaps, love was not enough.

* * *

><p>"Man, that was <em>depressing<em>," Veronica said as she stepped off the Pelican. Jason nodded sullenly as he and Enzo followed her into the hangar of the _Cairo_.

"Yeah...all those names," he murmured. They had just attended a ceremony commemorating the end of the War, and all those who had given their lives for it. Lord Hood had presided over it, giving a solemn, grim speech, and it was shortly after that the Arbiter had told them that he and most of the Elites were leaving for their homeworld.

Despite this, Enzo had elected to stay behind. So had a number of other Elites, in an attempt to help stimulate the alliance their two species now enjoyed. Jason wasn't entirely sure how to feel about it, but when he thought about it, he realized that his best friend was an Elite and he'd been living with them aboard the _Cairo_ for the past two months.

"What are our plans for the night?" Enzo asked, popping his neck with a sharp crack. Jason hesitated slightly, noticing the look Veronica gave him.

"Actually, me and Veronica were going to do something. Have dinner," he said, awkwardly.

"I'd enjoy some food in the company of friends," Enzo replied. Jason hesitated further.

"Alone," Veronica cut in. Enzo looked first to Veronica, then to Jason, then shrugged.

"Very well, I shall leave you to your mating. Contact me later, Jason." Enzo turned and walked out of the cavernous hangar, leaving the pair alone. They began making their way towards the living quarters.

"I thought you were going to tell him beforehand," Veronica said.

"I was...it just never came up," Jason replied.

They walked in silence for the rest of the way. Jason just wanted a simple night. Somewhere, in the back of his head, he was worried that Veronica was going to break up with him soon. And, somewhere, even deeper, he was _hoping_ she would. He had never had to break up with anyone before. Lindsay had died on him, and, before Veronica, she'd been his first and only. He felt woefully unprepared for this relationship and wondered how a more experienced man would handle it. Something told him Veronica would be difficult even for such a man.

They came to their bedroom and Veronica disappeared into the bathroom to change. Jason was confused at first, he'd seen her naked a million times, but she said she wanted to surprise him. Feeling a little better, he slipped into the closest thing he had to formal wear: slacks and a button down over a form-fitting, black t-shirt that Veronica insisted he wear very often. He didn't have any nice shoes, and settled for his combat boots.

He was just finished lacing them up when Veronica stepped out. He glanced up, and stared.

"Holy shit," he managed.

Veronica was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a girly girl. She never wore makeup, she rarely did anything with her hair besides comb it and thrust it into a rough ponytail. Rarely did she wear flattering clothes. When Jason stared at her now, he thought he was looking at a different woman. She had applied, with surprising skill, a moderate amount of makeup, darkening her eyes and lips. She had sculpted her hair so that it clung close to her skull in a fashion he'd seen among some of the more image-concerned women aboard the _Cairo_, mostly the from the media crews who'd taken up residency aboard the station.

And the short, red dress she wore was low cut and strapless, showing off impressive, pale cleavage. It hugged her hips and clung to her thighs, revealing a lot of her long legs. She smiled appreciatively.

"_That_ is the reaction I was hoping for," she said.

"I am going to _ruin_ that dress tonight." Veronica laughed.

"I figured as much. Come on, killer, let's go."

* * *

><p>The night was going well. Jason had set up their dinner date in the observatory, as he had some pull with the local staff. He'd made more than a few friends in his time aboard the <em>Cairo<em>, surprising even himself as he came out of his social shell. He even found some candles and had them set up on a table next to the vast window that overlooked Earth and the fleet protecting it.

He had steak and she had lobster, their respective favorites. They talked about various things as they made their way slowly through the meal. Jason made Veronica laugh, and felt good about it. It seemed her laughter was a rarity nowadays. They talked about the war, the Elites, about the media circus that the _Cairo _had become. Jason wasn't looking forward to the interview he'd been roped into, schedule for later that night, either.

With the advent of the Human-Elite Alliance, as well as the end of the war, everyone wasn't sure just exactly how the Elites were going to integrate into Human society. In an attempt to ease tensions between the two races, who were still peppered with those who hated the other side, the military had contracted the media to start a campaign of peace. It started on _Cairo Station_, which had the highest concentration of Elites living with humans.

Being one of the first, and apparently most prominent, members of humanity to have befriended an Elite, Jason was obviously asked a lot of questions. He'd been interviewed a few times so far, but nothing exactly formal. Certainly nothing on camera, like they wanted tonight. In fact, it was that interview that had forced Jason to procure some formal wear. But that was ahead of him, a few hours into the future, and Jason was happy now.

The key word being _was_.

The dinner began to go bad when Veronica casually asked about a certain technician Jason had befriended last week.

"Wait, are you talking about Jena?" Jason asked. He'd finished with his steak, and was now letting his food settle. He felt a cold chill settling over him as he realized that he was heading into argument territory now. Veronica, to her credit, remained stoic.

"Yeah, her. I saw you talking with her yesterday," she replied evenly.

"Oh yeah. She recognized me as one of the Ark survivors. We happened to work out in the same gym at the same time, and we just started talking. She had a lot of questions about the Ark and we just kept talking about things whenever we run into each other." Jason kept his tone neutral, not defensive, but could already see a slight change in Veronica's face.

"I see...it sounded like she was hitting on you yesterday," she replied. Jason hesitated, probably not the best thing to do. Because Jena _had_ been hitting on him.

"Maybe a little, she just got dumped by her boyfriend. You can't really fault her to that," he replied awkwardly.

"I can't fault _her_, no, but it didn't sound like you were shooting her down." Now Veronica was heading directly into hostile territory. Jason hesitated again, feeling agitation welling up within him. He was getting sick and tired of her accusing him of flirting with other women. It wasn't _his _fault he'd learned to make friends with both genders with relative ease. In the ensuing silence, Veronica continued.

"You _were_ flirting back with her, weren't you?" she asked. "Where were you last night?"

Something snapped in Jason.

"I was in our quarters!" he yelled. Veronica looked shocked, her eyes widening several centimeters. It was rare that Jason raised his voice. She began to sputter a response, but he pressed on, giving in to his anger for once.

"And I am getting _sick_ of this_ shit_, Veronica! I'm tired of you accusing me of screwing around with other women! I _never_ accuse you of this shit, I see you hanging around with guys all the time and I never ask myself, 'Oh, huh, is Veronica _having sex with him behind my back_?' I just go, 'Oh, she's probably talking to him about business', or, 'Oh, he's probably her friend.' And I leave it be. But you just..._can't_, can you!?"

Jason stood up suddenly, knocking over his chair in the process. Some part of his head was warning him that this was making him look guilty, another part said _to hell with it_.

"Where are you going?" Veronica managed.

"To my interview," Jason growled, walking out of the observation lounge.

* * *

><p>Jason had cooled off, to some extent, by the time he reached the briefing room where the interview was to take place. He'd gone by the bathroom to wash his face and take a lengthy piss, trying to relax himself. As the anger began to fade while he made his way to the interview, Jason began to feel bad. Very rarely had he raised his voice to his lover, and he'd <em>never<em> flat out screamed at her like that. But, he decided, she had been pushing him a lot lately.

And, he thought grimly, wasn't this exactly what he had worried about during the war? What would happen between them once they didn't have the fighting to force them apart for days at a time? He had his answer, and it wasn't pretty. He was now crossing that bridge. Jason stepped into the briefing room, which had been converted into something less military and more casual, media-friendly for the interview.

He found a young, attractive woman in a well-cut suit waiting to interview him. He sat down next to her and stared contemptuously at the camera.

"You alright, Sergeant DuPree?"

"Hmm? Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired. How long will this take?" A cameraman stood opposite them behind the camera, messing with it.

"Not long, ten minutes at most. Just some questions. My name is Amy, by the way, Sergeant DuPree."

"Good to meet you."

After a few more minutes of the cameraman screwing around with the camera, they finally got underway. Amy spent a few moments introducing Jason, chronicling a brief timeline of his time spent in the war, highlighting the major events, like his action at New Jerusalem, then at New Mombasa, Voi and then the Ark. Jason wondered how they'd gotten at that data on him, but figured it didn't really matter. Finally, they got down to the questions.

"So, Jason, you first met Elite Enzo 'Enslomee in Voi, correct?"

"That's true, and it's just 'Enslom." Amy gave him an inquisitive look and he wondered if she'd made the mistake on purpose. If she did, he thought it was a good move. "The Elites dropped the double-e suffix once they rebelled against the Covenant on Delta Halo," he explained.

"I see...interesting. Was Enzo hostile at first?"

"No, not at all. He'd been separated from his unit and I was on an important mission at the time, so I asked for his assistance and he was glad to give it."

"And this wasn't the first time you'd worked with Elites, was it?"

"No. I spent a fair share of time on Earth in between the Delta Halo and the Ark incidents, fighting a ground war against the Covenant with the UNSC, the ODSTs and the Elites. I came across the Elites often. While there were a few uncomfortable moments, I typically found every Elite competent and very willing to work with me and those like me."

"Uncomfortable moments?" Jason sighed quietly.

"Well, there's always going to be a few dissidents who aren't comfortable working with the Elites, and I can understand that. Even I was reluctant at first. But I got over it, and so did mostly everyone else I came in contact with, on both sides. The fact remains that the Elites were essentially blindly led on a false religious crusade by leaders who, for centuries, they had no reason to question. I think it's a true testament to the honor and logic that drives Elites that they were able to not only quit the Covenant, but join us _against_ them, so quickly."

"I can see you're serious about this."

"I am. It's a serious matter. I know there's been some dissidence out there, and I know that there's even groups out there who completely oppose us working with the Elites. It's stupid. We need to learn this right here, right now, we _both_ did unforgivable things to each other, so we both need to move on. Both of our races are in a pretty miserable place right now, we're rebuilding after a galactic, decades-long war, and we both have a lot to learn from each other. This alliance is one of the smartest things we could do at the moment, not to mention that we owe the Elites at least the simple kindness of respect for coming to our aide. I know no one wants to say it, but I'm not sure we would have made it if they hadn't come to the rescue."

"Well...I think that pretty much covers everything we were going to talk about. Thank you very much Sergeant DuPree." Amy gave a brief outro while Jason mulled over everything he had just said.

"Was that...too much?" he asked when the camera turned off. Despite having a history of focusing on what was more entertaining rather than what was more beneficial or factual, the media, deferring to just how shaky a state humanity was in, was now looking to benefit mankind rather than entertain it.

"No, I don't think so. Everyone's been tip-toeing around the subject lately and I think this...will shake things up. In a good way. I hope, at least. Either way, I can tell you were being honest. And that does count for something."

"Alright, that's good. Do you need me for anything else?"

"Nope, that's it. Thanks again."

Jason stood and left. He considered heading for his dorm, where Veronica likely might be, but opted to walk around and hunt for Enzo instead. He wasn't quite ready to speak to her yet.

* * *

><p>A few hours and a long conversation with his best friend later, Jason made for his dorm. He always felt weird going to an alien for relationship advice. Enzo took it pretty well, though. Jason essentially just bounced his feelings off the big warrior. He just needed someone to listen and Enzo was the only one he trusted. Which said a lot, he realized, about himself. Six months ago he couldn't be in the same room with an Elite without shooting at it.<p>

He came to his dorms, feeling tired, depressed and nervous. He was worried Veronica might not be there. He was more worried that she would be. When he opened the door and stepped in, he found her lying in bed, trying to read a datapad. She set it down when he came in.

"Hey," she said quietly.

"Hey." Silence followed. "Look, honey, I'm sorry about-" Jason began, but Veronica cut him off, raising her hand.

"No, _I'm_ sorry, baby. You're completely right. I've been hassling you a lot lately, and I'm really sorry about that. I just...get jealous, and nervous. But...look, I'm tired. Can we just skip to the part where we have makeup sex and go to sleep?" Jason smiled and nodded tiredly.

"Yeah, but do _not_ give me shit for only lasting about five minutes. I'm _tired_," he replied, shedding his shirt.

"I'll consider it," Veronica replied, smirking.


	39. Part V: In the Pale Moonlight

**Chapter 39  
><strong>_-In the Pale Moonlight-_

Jason's sleep was broken by the soft chiming of the wall mounted audio/video unit. He blinked awake, lethargy thick and cloying in his head. Rubbing his eyes, he pulled the blankets back and rooted around in the darkness for his boxers. They had been discarded without care just a few hours ago. Finally, he found them and pulled them on. After making sure that Veronica was properly covered up by the blanket, he moved to the unit.

The darkness of his cabin was broken only by the pulsing red light, indicating he had an incoming call. He went to hit the reply button, but hesitated. Jason checked to see who was calling and when he saw what it said, he spent a few more seconds rubbing sleep from his eyes. He looked again. The name remained the same.

**Unknown Caller.**

Frowning, Jason hit the reply button. Typically, the head and shoulders of whoever was calling would fill the screen. Usually it was Enzo or a frowning superior with bad news for Jason. This time, however, was completely different. The image on the screen was so fuzzy that Jason thought his unit had broken. Then the voice began.

_"__Jason DuPree, you are required for a mission of the utmost secrecy and importance."_ The voice was mechanical, deep and very augmented by electric synthesizers. It also had a slight metallic echo to it.

"Who is this?" Jason managed.

_"__ONI Black Ops. You will leave _Cairo Station_ immediately. You will acquire a Pelican from the hangar. You will tell anyone who asks you that you need to go visit the monument in Voi for closure and retrospective. You will pilot the Pelican to a military base in Voi, land and go to Serenity Graveyard. You have been there before. You will go to Alec Paulson's grave. There, you will received further instructions."_

"I don't suppose I could get some authorization on this beyond you saying that you're ONI Black Ops?" There was the slightest of hesitation.

_"__Authorization Code 17/B. Ask your girlfriend about it. But tell no one else. Your species needs you. You have two hours."_

The link was cut. Jason sat back, frowning deeply. He wondered why the call hadn't woken Veronica up. He remained motionless in the dark for several moments, considering the situation. Something felt...wrong about this. On the other hand, Bennings _had_ been talking about...well, _something_, before he'd gone off to the Ark. Maybe this was the follow up to that. Or maybe it was something completely different.

Jason stood and began moving around in his quarters. He quietly began to gather a fresh uniform, then thought better of it and grabbed a t-shirt, some jeans and a gray overcoat. It had been cold the last time he'd been in Voi. He slipped into the bathroom and quickly showered, then dried and dressed. Stepping back out, he was surprised to see that none of this had woken Veronica. Then again, she did sleep deeply after make-up sex.

He woke her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"What is it?" she asked sleepily.

"Honey, wake up. Something's happened," Jason replied. Veronica, like almost everyone else in the military, had the ability to snap awake when the situation called for it. Her eyes opened fully and she sat up, the sleepiness thrown from her voice.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice dead serious.

"Relax, nothing bad. It's just...I just got a really weird call. Someone from ONI Black Ops. Does Authorization Code 17/B mean anything to you?" From the way she stiffened, he could tell it did.

"Oh shit, that's serious business, Jason. What did they want?" Jason quickly described the conversation. Veronica frowned.

"It doesn't exactly sound like their typical style but...well, to be honest, I haven't had many dealings with ONI Black Ops. They...well, they keep to themselves."

"You've told me a little bit about them, but who _are_ they? Are they Section Zero?" Veronica shook her head.

"No...Black Ops is...well, I'm one of the few people who know that it actually exists. It's completely unknown outside of ONI. There are a few Generals and Admirals that suspect...but not even the Spartans know about it. Section Zero monitors and governs ONI, Black Ops is beyond even that. Black Ops...I'm not _entirely_ sure what they do, only that they were established when ONI was established, and they're fairly self-sufficient. They don't report to anyone, and they can pull rank on anyone, anywhere, anytime."

"That...sounds extremely shady. What do they actually _do_?"

"Officially, protect humanity from unique threats. That's the extent of my knowledge on them. But Jason...and this is important, when Black Ops calls...you go. No questions. Got it? Do whatever they say." Jason considered this, then finally nodded.

"Alright...I'll, well, I don't know when I'll be back. I love you." Veronica smiled sadly at him.

"I love you, too," she whispered. Jason hesitated, then kissed her and headed out of their quarters, feeling strange and off-kilter. He considered stopping by Enzo's, but ultimately decided against it. Enzo could take care of himself, and Veronica would fill him in. He did, however, stop by one of the communications centers on the way to the hangar.

"Hey," he said, coming into the cramped room. It was manned by a single technician, who was listening to techno and eating nachos.

"Oh, uh...hey, Sergeant," the man said awkwardly, reaching forward and quickly quieting the techno. Jason laughed easily.

"Relax, this isn't a surprise inspection. I just had a question." The technician seemed to relax. He gave Jason an inquisitive look. "Can you pull up the comms records for my quarters for tonight?" he asked. The tech nodded and leaned forward, working at the console in front of him for a few seconds before sitting back again.

"It looks clean," he replied. Jason frowned and moved forward to glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, the record was empty. He nodded.

"Figured as much," he muttered. He thanked the technician, then headed for the hangar. It was surprisingly easy to requisition a Pelican. All he had to do was ask and sign it out. Apparently rank _did_ hath its privileges. Jason sat uncomfortably at the controls and made his way towards Earth, towards Voi and towards the unknown.

* * *

><p>It was dark, past midnight, when Jason settled down at the military base. He left the Pelican with the Marines there, the sleepy men nodding to him as he made his way out of the base. A light rain bathed the city in a chilly mist, only adding to the surreal sense currently enshrouding Jason. He huddled inside of his gray overcoat and made for the graveyard. The mysterious person was right, he had been there before.<p>

Alec Paulson had been one of his very few friends back during his early days as a Private and PFC in the ODSTs. And while they had never recovered the body from that crash site, as the whole area had been destroyed between the glassing and the bomb Gage Yevgenny had set, the man had received an honorary burial site in his hometown. Jason had visited Paulson's grave a few times since the end of the war with Gage's words of not forgetting friends echoing in his skull. Paulson had been a friend, one of the very few.

Jason made the walk in twenty minutes from the military base, his short black hair soaked and matted to his pale skull by the time he slipped in through the front gates. They were locked, but his military ID got him in. He walked the narrow, moonlit paths until he came on final approach to Paulson's grave.

Someone was standing in front of it, staring down. A woman, he realized, wrapped in a black trenchcoat. She was smoking. As she turned to look at him, her face lit by the orange glow of the cig, Jason realized that she was incredibly beautiful. So much so that he hesitated, his stomach turning with sick desire, as he took in her features. Once, Jason had heard that a person's attractiveness, at least facially, was determined by something called Phi, or the Golden Ratio. It was all about measurements, like how close your eyes were together, or the distance between your nose and your upper lip, or the breadth of your forehead.

The idea was, the closer these measurements were to that of the Golden Ratio, the more attractive you were. Jason was willing to bet that if you were to measure this woman's face, you would get a dead ringer for the Golden Ratio in all her measurements. Blood red hair wreathed a pale, pale face, her eyes a deep blue that seemed almost lit from within. There was something about her larger than life, almost as if she had walked out of a CGI film.

"Jason," she said, smiling around the long white cigarette. "Come, stand with me." Jason hesitated only briefly, then moved forward to stand beside her. They stared down at the grave in rainy silence for a few moments. Finally, the woman reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. The side of the pack said Yeheyuan. She pulled one out, offered it and a designer Zippo lighter to Jason.

"I don't smoke," he said.

"You do now." He took the cigarette and the lighter, studying it as he stuck the filter end in his mouth. The Zippo was a square of black metal with a stylized design of a flaming skull on the side, the mark of the Helljumper. He grinned, then flicked it open and lit the cig. He flicked it shut and tried to offer it back to her.

"Keep it," she said, her hands in the cavernous pockets of her trenchcoat. He slipped it into his own pocket and pulled on the cigarette. He began coughing and nearly dropped the thing. The woman laughed, a silver sound in the midnight gloom. Jason pulled again and it went smoother this time. When he'd been a teenager, he'd taken to sticking toothpicks in his mouth all the time, like a cigarette, and never knew why.

Those memories came back, and he found he could talk around it easily.

"So, who are you?"

"My name is Kyra. We're going to have to handle an assassination, you and me. You're good Jason. You trained with Price. There aren't too many like you left in the galaxy...and you're the closest. It's going to take some detective work, which I understand you're good at." Jason shrugged uncomfortably.

"I don't know," he replied.

"Nonsense. Come on. I've had an apartment set up and rented in an assumed name not far from here. It's going to be our base of operations. Things are quiet for now. The real work begins tomorrow night. You need a clear head. Let's go." There was no arguing with her.

The pair of overcoat-clad figures made their way out of the graveyard. If anything, the feeling of surreality had increased. He felt detached from his body, as if his consciousness were floating three feet above his head, removed of emotion, passively observing the events playing out before him. They left the graveyard, found a sleek black car and slipped in.

* * *

><p>The apartment was in a bad part of town, but very nice. Jason shed his overcoat, hanging it on a rack.<p>

"Nice place," he said, taking in the warm, carpeted living room stuffed with expensive furniture. Kyra grinned, unbelting her trenchcoat.

"Rank hath its privileges." The trenchcoat had been tight, but not that tight, and had hid the shape of her body. If her face had twisted his stomach, then her body ripped it asunder. She was long and lithe, wrapped in a tight tank top and form-fitting cargo pants that showed off a seemingly impossible combination of thin and curvy. Jason blinked in surprise, again wondering how such a ridiculously attractive person could exist.

Kyra grinned.

"See anything you like?" she asked. Jason opened his mouth, then shut it. He didn't trust himself to speak. Veronica flashed across his mind. Kyra walked closer.

"This job we're going to do, it's going to require that we be boyfriend and girlfriend, you know. And it's important that we don't raise suspicion. We're going to be checking some pretty seedy places. So, if you have sex with me now, it'll put us physically in synch that much more. What do you say?" she asked.

Jason was hard-pressed to think of a women he'd been more physically attracted to. He'd loved Lindsay, and yes, she had been very beautiful, but not like this. Veronica was closer on the lust level. But this woman, Kyra, put porn stars to shame. With an effort, Jason licked his lips and shook his head. He walked over to her coat, fished out the pack of Yeheyuans from her pocket and pulled one out. He lit it up.

"I'm going to bed," he said, making for the couch in the living room. Kyra shrugged.

"If you change you're mind, I'll be in the king size bed. Naked." She walked out of the room. Jason sat down heavily on the couch, pulling hard on the cigarette, and seriously began to reconsider his relationship with Veronica.


	40. Part V: Lowlife

**Chapter 40  
><strong>_-Lowlife-_

Jason's day began as the sun was starting to disappear behind the horizon. He stood at the window of his new home-away-from-home and stared at the skyline, which was painted in steel and glass towers that glittered in the twilight. Further beyond them, black storm clouds were gathering, threatening rain and thunder. Behind him, Kyra moved, preparing for the night. He didn't want to face her, face what she represented.

"Come on, soldier. Let's get into character," she said from behind him. Christ, even her voice was seductive. Jason turned away and eyed the things she'd laid out on a large, foldout table that dominated the living room. A black trenchcoat to replace his drab gray overcoat. A sleek, silenced pistol. Two spare clips of ammo. A pair of flash/bangs. Black boots and a black skullcap.

"What are we doing, exactly?" Jason asked as he crossed the room and began to inspect the contents of the table closer. She still hadn't been straight with him yet.

"Black Ops has tracked a rogue agent of ours, someone with a head full of secrets that disappeared. He's dangerous, as hell. We've managed to track him here, to Voi. He disappeared into the red light district last night. We've got the city on a tight leash. Unless he leaves on foot, we'll know about it. He's still in the red light district...but we've lost track of him there. You and me have to go in and find him," Kyra explained.

Jason frowned as he slipped into the trenchcoat. Several things seemed strange about this whole thing. Why was the man still alive? It would seem that an operation as tight as Black Ops would have straight up killed the guy...not lost him in in the red light district of Voi. But there was enough right with the situation that Jason felt like he had to take Kyra at face value. At least enough to ride this thing out and figure out what was really going on.

He pulled on the boots and the skullcap, then slipped the pistol and extra supplies into the various pockets. Amongst those pockets, he found a full pack of Yeheyuans and the ODST engraved Zippo. He tore the pack open, fished a cig out and lit up. Already he was beginning to get used to the taste of cigarettes. Jason wondered why he hadn't tried them out before as he snapped the lighter shut and replaced it.

"You look good," Kyra said with an approving glance. Jason tried to remain stoic, but felt his cheeks burning. If there was one thing he would rid the human condition of, it was blushing. Kyra smirked and headed for the door. "Come on, killer. We've got a long night ahead of us."

* * *

><p>The night only got tougher.<p>

They hit the red light district. It was a seedy part of town that seemed to be made up of equal parts strip club and brothel. Night clubs, bars, all-night liquor stores and rundown apartment complexes dominated the streets. The town didn't sleep at night, if anything, it seemed to really come alive. There were a lot of smells in the street. Sex and smoke and alcohol and blood. Jason took it all in and thought that it had been a while since he'd been somewhere like this.

They spent most of the night hitting up bars and nightclubs. Kyra seemed to have an in everywhere, always someone to talk to. The bartender or the bouncer or some shady guy in the corner booth. All the while, she made it incredibly difficult for Jason to focus. She kept holding his hand, pulling him close or kissing him unexpectedly. He found himself torn between thoughts of Veronica and the relentless tide of lust that was rising in him.

At some point, they seemed to slow down. After a whirlwind of burning neon and almost-naked women and hazy rooms, he and Kyra slid into the booth of a small, rundown, hole in the wall bar. Jason checked his watch. It was just past two in the morning. He still felt pretty alert, but knew that most of that was probably due to the fact that so much sexual tension was coursing through him that his muscles were ready to snap.

"So, tell me about Veronica," Kyra said conversationally as their drinks came. Jason had stuck with water, not trusting himself to ingest even an ounce of alcohol.

"Why do you want to know about her?" he asked, wondering just how much Kyra knew about him. She smirked back at him.

"Just curious. A girl can't be curious?"

"Not an ONI girl," Jason muttered. Kyra laughed.

"That's cute. She's jealous, isn't she? Asks you where you've been a lot? Maybe spying on you? She thinks you're cheating on her." That last one was a statement, not a question. Jason remained silent, leveling his gaze at her. Kyra took another drink, then lit up a cig.

"I know a lot about your girlfriend. She's had a lot of boyfriends, and they all end in tears. Usually for her. She's got a bit of a neurosis. She's obsessed with the idea that she's not good enough, that all of her men have wandering eyes. It's been this way since she was a teenager. Which is really interesting that the two of you wound up together...you're something of a monogamist, aren't you?" Jason let his own silence play out. Kyra didn't seem to need another voice to keep a conversation going. She pressed on.

"I read up about your fiancee. Lindsay Palmer, to be Lindsay DuPree. Why are you with Veronica, Jason? She isn't for you. A monogamist and a serial dater don't go together. Not to mention the fact that she's eight years your senior. Or does that turn you on? I bet it does. I think you're tired of being a loner Jason, and I don't think you want to go back to the monogamy type of relationship. I think you want to screw around with a lot of women. And why not? You're young, you're fit, you're disconnected...you could probably have any woman you wanted, at least for a one night stand. So why haven't you broken up with her yet?"

Jason felt a response welling within him. Of course he wasn't going to break up with Veronica. That was nuts. She might be a bit neurotic, she might be a bit over-jealous, but he had a good thing going with her. A very good thing. She was very attractive, very good in bed and very nice to him. She was loyal and he trusted her. There were problems, but...

But. There were a _lot_ of problems. And the more he thought about it, the more he could see the cold logic of Kyra's words. Maybe he _was_ sick of being a one-woman man. How many women had he made friends with onboard the _Cairo_ that he wanted to sleep with over the past couple of months? There were a _lot_ of beauties onboard that station. And most of them had flirted with him, a few had openly propositioned him at one point or another. And how tempted had he been? He much had he wanted to take them up on that offer?

But before he could say anything, on either side of the argument, someone approached the table. Kyra glanced over.

"Ah, Yakov. Good of you to finally come," she said. He remained standing, a large man wrapped in a billowing trenchcoat.

"Kyra," he said, his voice thick with accent. "I cannot stay for long. I have...business to attend to." He glanced around the bar, then returned his gaze to the pair of them. "The man you seek, I believe I have a tab on him. Word is that he's doing a deal in an abandoned warehouse." He rattled off an address, a street name and a time. Then he was gone. Kyra finished her drink, killed her cig and stood up.

"Guess that's our cue," she said, making for the door. Numbly, Jason followed, several uncomfortable thoughts occupied his head.

* * *

><p>The warehouse was very abandoned, and reminded Jason of the one he had crashed into several months ago at the advent of his hunt for the missing AI. They had scoped the place out, finding it completely void of life, and set up several micro-cameras that covered all the entrances. After that, they found a place to hide on the roof of an adjacent warehouse that gave them a good view of the area. By the time they were settled in, they had a half hour wait before their guest was supposed to arrive in the area.<p>

"Thought about anything I've said?" Kyra asked after several moments of silence had passed. She was staring into a datapad that switched between differing views of the area, provided by the micro-cameras.

"Some," Jason replied reluctantly. It was all he'd been thinking about. "I'm thinking that maybe...you might be right. At least that maybe I shouldn't be with Veronica. She's great...she really is. And, in my own way, I _do_ love her. And I know she loves me. But..." Kyra seemed to hang on his words, staring intently at him. It threw him off.

"But..." she prompted.

"But I think John Lennon was wrong." Kyra smirked.

"So it turns out that love isn't all you need?" Jason was impressed, it was a rare person that knew that quote and who it came from. He nodded.

"Yeah."

"So sleep with me. I'm not looking for a long relationship, just a frantic screw. Can you honestly say you aren't tempted?" she asked, leaning forward. The front of her trenchcoat was open, and she was wearing a low cut t-shirt, showing off an impressive amount of pale cleavage. Jason took a deep breath and let it out.

"I _am_ tempted. Very much so...and maybe I'm considering breaking up with Veronica. But I won't cheat on her." Kyra rolled her eyes.

"Aren't _you_ the knight in shining armor? Whatever, soldier." She turned away from him and returned her attention to the datapad. The silence played out between them and Jason felt content to let it stay that way.

He continued to watch the warehouse, waiting in the gloomy, midnight silence for something to happen.


	41. Part V: Collapse

**Chapter 41  
><strong>_-Collapse-_

Someone was shaking him.

"Jason, wake up, now."

A collection of faces shot through his mind, still shots of others from his past. Lindsay was shaking him, it was time to get up and go to work. Price was shaking him, time to get ghillied up and crawl fifty miles through the mud behind enemy lines. Paulson was shaking him, they had to drop soon. Enzo was shaking him, he was late for his interview. Veronica was shaking him, she wanted a midnight screw.

"What?" he muttered as the grim reality set in. He was in his home-away-from-home with an achingly beautiful redhead waking him. He had gone to sleep on the couch after they'd come back from their long night of nothing. The warehouse had been a dud. No one had shown. When the sun had begun creeping over the horizon they had abandoned the watch and gone to sleep. Kyra had tried to sleep with him again, and it was harder than ever to say no.

"I've been in touch with Black Ops. They've picked something up. Two of our agents just went flatline, they were killed by our target. He still has a hell of a clearance, though. I think he was tipped off that we were tipped off last night. We think we finally have a fix on his plan, though. He's going to be infiltrating a nearby military base where a critical piece of equipment is being passed through. A Forerunner artifact discovered on a distant planet. It's being held at the base temporarily. The personnel don't even know it's there," Kyra explained.

Jason hesitated briefly, a series of questions running through his mind. He considered posing them to Kyra, but the redhead was already up and across the room, pulling on some seductive looking clothes. Jason sighed and pulled the blanket away. He stood, stretched and popped his neck, then began to make for the bathroom.

"Hurry up. We're going to be heading into the base. You're going to tell them that you need a secure link to _Cairo_ station to speak with your girlfriend." She rolled her eyes while she said it.

"And what are you going to be doing?"

"Coming with you, duh. Once we get inside we'll hack into the security system and run a facial recognition program to see if our guy is in the area. And don't worry, getting in should be pretty easy, the base is on skeleton crew at the moment. Now get your shit in gear and let's _go_." Jason sighed, even more questions welling up within his head. Something was definitely wrong here. But he stepped into the bathroom and began to get ready.

* * *

><p>Kyra was right about one thing: getting into the base was easy. As hell. They walked up to the gate. It was being guarded by a single bored Marine, who looked up at Jason, checked his military ID, then let him in without asking anything. Jason thought it incredibly strange that he didn't offer so much as a glance Kyra's direction. They came into the base, moving beyond the gate towards the central structure.<p>

The base was almost abandoned. Another lone Marine manned the main point of ingress, looking bored and staring into a datapad. He didn't even check Jason's ID.

"Need something?" he asked.

"Yeah. A secure comm link," Jason replied, trying to remain calm. Walking into a UNSC military base under false pretenses was something that he'd never done before. Something he'd never _had _to do. There had never been anything close to a reason for it. Jason received directions from the Marine and made his way into the base, Kyra in tow. There was practically no one in the corridors or any of the rooms they passed through.

"So, you thought anymore on my proposal?" Kyra asked as they zeroed in on the comms room. Jason suppressed a sigh.

"Why are you so on about that? Why are you so into me? Look at you, you're beautiful. You put most porn stars to shame. You could have literally anyone. Why me?" he replied suddenly. Kyra laughed.

"You're threatening to make me blush, killer. Maybe because I've got a crush on you, or maybe because you said no to me, or maybe because you already belong to another woman. Or maybe because I know you could use some sexual liberation. You're so repressed. I've tried the monogamy thing Jason, and I've tried the different-guy-every-night thing, too. One night stands are more fun, by a long shot. Relationships only disappoint you. Always. Everyone lies, everyone cheats, in the end. Everyone will always let you down," Kyra said, her voice growing more and more bitter as she continued. Jason was surprised by how grim she had turned.

They found the comms room and slipped in. Falling silent, Kyra pulled out a small device and hooked it into the terminal. She activated it and then let it run, staring briefly at a datapad it was linked to. The screen on the pad began cycling through faces.

"Shouldn't take too long," she muttered.

"So obviously something bad happened to you," Jason said. "And that sucks and I'm sorry. But just because your relationship went down the toilet doesn't mean everyone else's has to. And just because sleeping around works for you doesn't mean it'll work for me." Kyra turned on him suddenly, causing him to take a step back.

"Oh give me a _break_, DuPree. We've both been in the shit and _you_ know it. What you also know, deep down, is that you _want_ to sleep around. Veronica is the only reason you don't. And you're getting sick of her because she's letting you down, isn't she?"

Jason didn't respond. He didn't have anything to say except that she was right. The conversation was cut off, however, as a soft chime emitted from the datapad. Kyra stood up, retrieve the device and slipped it and the datapad back into her pocket.

"Let's go," she said icily. Jason followed her out of the comms room without comment. He wanted to be away from Kyra. He found his hands digging into his pockets as they began stalking the corridors, hunting for their target. He pulled out a cig and lit up, feeling a small increment of stress relieved as he did so. He replaced the lighter in his pocket then let his hand briefly rest on the butt of the pistol in his thigh holster.

He undid the latch.

"What does he look like?" Jason asked.

"Let me worry about him. Just look tough," Kyra replied. Jason's frown deepened. He continued following her through the lonely and silent corridors. Eventually, they arrived at the hangar. It was almost empty. Almost. A quartet of people occupied the hangar. Jason recognized two of them. He felt his gut tighten. Veronica and Enzo were talking with a pair of Marines. They all looked over as he and Kyra came into the hangar. Veronica's eyes widened.

"Jason! Where the hell have you been?!" she cried, coming towards him. Jason swallowed nervously. Why wouldn't she know? She knew _damn well_ he was on a Black Ops mission.

"What...Veronica, you _know_ where I've been," he replied, glancing uncertainly at Kyra, who remained motionless at his side, seemingly content to let him handle the situation.

"What are you talking about? Jason, I haven't seen you in two _days_! I was so worried." Jason suddenly felt very uncertain. He could feel his temperature rising with his fear. Something was incredibly wrong here. His head began to swim as his stomach churned and blackness started to consume his vision.

"Jason, are you alright? Shit! Go get a medic!" Veronica cried. Jason groaned and fell to his knees. The blackness moved in.

He was gone.


	42. Part V: Reality Is Perception

**Chapter 42  
><strong>_-Reality Is Perception-_

Jason came awake to a very bright light. There was a hole in his head: he had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. A feeling of wrongness permeated throughout his being. It set him on edge, worry gnawing at the peripheral of his soul. He closed his eyes almost as soon as they were open, squinting and groaning. He realized that he was in a very uncomfortable position. He was seated in a chair with his head leaned over the back of it. Sitting up straighter, he popped his sore neck and tried opening his eyes again.

Now that he wasn't looking directly into the too-bright overhead light, Jason had a little bit more luck. He was in a blank metal room. He was sitting in one of two chairs, each one on either side of a bland, metal table. There was nothing else in the room and only one door. No windows and just one overhead vent, too small to get into. Kyra leaned on the wall next to the door, idly smoking a cigarette. She smirked at him when he focused his gaze on her.

"You really did it now, lover boy," she said, her voice as smooth and seductive as ever. Everything ached, but most of all his head did. His mouth was dry. He wanted a cigarette, badly. Jason felt as if he were swimming through a fog, his thoughts coming slow and sluggish.

"What...happened?" he asked slowly, trying to relieve the tension in his back and shoulders. Nothing made any sense anymore.

"You _really_ screwed up," Kyra replied.

Abruptly, the door opened. A tall, thin man with a freshly shaved head and a grim demeanor walked in. He was holding a single datapad. He wore an ONI uniform. A freshly polished nametag read simply **Childs**. No rank, no first initial, nothing. He studied Jason, completely ignoring Kyra. After a moment, he sat down. For several moments, he said nothing, staring at his datapad. Finally, he set it down with a soft _clink_ on the table and stared for a long time into Jason's eyes. Jason let the silence play out. Finally, Childs spoke.

"Your name is Jason Alexander DuPree. You were born June 17th, 2528 in Crisium City, Naniwa Region, on Luna. Your mother's name was Christine, your father's name was Robert. You have no brothers, no sisters, no family presently alive. When you were ten, you and your family moved to Lindholm Three. You graduated high school there, and met Lindsay Amber Reeves when you were seventeen. After graduating, you moved out of your parent's house and into an apartment with Lindsay. When you were nineteen, you proposed to her."

Childs stopped speaking abruptly. Jason was snapped out of a near trance-like state. There was something incredibly captivating about the man's voice. Behind him, Kyra was still standing there, smoking. Jason glared at her. She seemed to be enjoying herself. Childs's eyebrows knitted briefly.

"Why did you stop?" Jason asked finally.

"Because this is where the facts cease, Mister DuPree."

"It's _Sergeant_."

"That fact has come under some scrutiny." Jason swallowed nervously. _What_ was going on?

"I think you should let me talk to Veronica, or at the very least tell me where I am," Jason replied evenly, trying to get a grip on the situation.

"You can't see anyone right now, Mister DuPree. But you are on _Cairo Station_, if it will set your mind at ease." If he was on the station, then chances were Veronica and Enzo were nearby. So why weren't they banging the door down trying to see him? Maybe they were. Why wasn't he in an infirmary? Jason was beginning to see where this was going, and he didn't like it at all.

"Let's talk about your time in New Mombasa, DuPree," Childs said. Jason felt his gut tighten. He paused, then proceeded to give a shortened version of the events that played out that night. He still didn't have a handle on what was happening, and sure as hell wasn't going to give up secrets if he didn't absolutely have to.

"Mmm-hmm," Childs said unhappily after Jason was finished, his frown deepening all the time. Kyra chuckled grimly. Jason glanced over at her.

"DuPree, why do you keep looking behind me?" Childs asked. Jason stared at him.

"Are...you serious?" he replied, uncertain of himself, of everything around him now. Childs sighed quietly and, reluctantly, turned around. He scanned the room behind him, then returned his gaze to Jason.

"Yes. I'm serious." Jason hesitated further. Childs finally sighed again, heavily, and set the datapad down. "I'm going to be frank with you, Jason. I believe you've had another mental breakdown." Jason's eyes widened. His gaze snapped over to Kyra, who's grin widened further and then, abruptly, she vanished. It was as if she had never been there to begin with. Jason lowered his head to the table.

"Oh, dear God..." he moaned. Childs's voice softened.

"Jason, can you please go over New Mombasa again? This time in detail?" Jason raised his head and slowly nodded. He felt sick. He spent the next hour relaying everything about the events of that night, the night he broke. Childs asked questions, lots of them. Jason answered them all. He didn't hold anything back. After that, he then relayed the events of the past two days to Childs, telling him about Kyra, about Black Ops, about the entire operation. When he was finished, Childs was nodding. He stood up.

"Will you be okay if I leave for about ten minutes?" he asked. Jason nodded.

"Yeah, but I'd kill for a smoke. Do you still have the pack I had on me...or did I make _those_ up, too?" he muttered bitterly. Childs shook his head.

"No, we recovered a pack of Yeheyuans and a stylized Zippo lighter. I brought them in with me, thought you might ask for them." Childs fished the pair of objects out of his pocket, setting them down on the table in front of Jason. He then made for the door and left. Jason expected Kyra to pop back into existence, but he remained alone. Sighing, he picked up the crumpled pack and extracted one of the cigarettes. Sticking it in his mouth, he lit up. Inhaled, exhaled. He felt better. Ten minutes later, Childs came back into the room.

"This may help you," he said, setting the datapad he was holding down face up on the table and pushing it towards Jason.

"What is it?" he asked, picking it up.

"A detailed report of where you've been over the past two days. When Veronica went looking for you the morning after your fight and realized you had left the station, she got worried and sent word out across the ONI net. Normally we wouldn't go hunting down missing boyfriends, but you're a bit of a...special case."

Jason began looking through the files in the datapad. He watched himself leaving _Cairo Station_. He watched himself landing at a military base. He watched himself enter a desolate graveyard in the middle of the night, stand at Paulson's grave and then leave. Alone. He watched himself stop by a store and buy a pack of Yeheyuans and a stylized Zippo lighter at a discount since he was an ODST. He checked the receipt, they had it on file. He watched himself rent an apartment. He watched himself hang out in various night clubs and bars and strip joints.

Alone.

When he was finished, he put the datapad down and slowly slid it back across the table to Childs.

"I'm sorry," Childs said quietly, and he sounded like he meant it. Jason didn't know what to think anymore. What had happened in New Mombasa had been terrifying, life-altering. He hadn't felt the same since. But Veronica had helped with the transition back into normal life, and the war had kept everything else at bay with the immediate attention it required. All the increasingly insane things he'd been asked to do...a thought suddenly occurred to him.

"What happened to Bennings? I didn't imagine _him_ did I?"

"No. Lieutenant Commander Bennings was...reassigned. I've taken his place. But we'll deal with that after this," Childs replied. Jason nodded, relieved. Something was irking him.

"Earlier, you said...that after I moved in with Lindsay, that's where the facts ceased."

"For the most part, that's true. Maybe I was a little too sweeping in my statement, but there _is_ a blind spot in your record. Tell me what happened as you remember it." Jason frowned intensely, again not enjoying where this was going.

"Well, after we moved in together, I proposed to her a little bit after I turned nineteen. I had a good job and so did she and I thought it was a good idea. So did she. Then, two months later...the Covenant glassed the planet. She and my parents were killed. I survived and, with nothing left, I joined the military."

"I see..." Childs consulted his datapad. "What would you say if I told you that Lindsay Reeves isn't dead?"

"That you were lying," Jason replied immediately, feeling his stomach drop out. No. There was no way. As crazy as he might be right now, as broken as he might have been in New Mombasa, he was _certain, _absolutely _positive_ that Lindsay had died. If she hadn't died, then why would he have bothered to join the military?

"I'm not lying," Childs continued calmly. "You have most of your facts right. The Covenant did glass Lindholm Three. Your parents were killed in the glassing. Those are facts. Those happened. But Lindsay Reeves is not counted among the dead. She was among the survivors. She was successfully evacuated out, along with you, though on different ships."

"Where is she now?" Jason asked, feeling some cocktail of dread and excitement welling up within him.

"We don't know. A lot of files were lost during the war. I'm working on that very thing this moment. Suffice to say that your past is not your past, at least one key part of it. Who you are, an ODST, a member of the United Nations Space Command, a soldier, was founded on one thing, at least in your eyes. The death of your lover. Why are you so certain that she's dead? Is it impossible that you just _assumed_ she's dead all these years?"

"No," Jason replied immediately, shaking his head. "I _saw_ her die. I was with her. She was...vaporized. I watched her die." Childs nodded, frowning.

"Then we have a problem. But we also may have a solution. Jason...there is an option to cure you of your insanity. It's experimental and it's dangerous. There's a fifty-fifty chance of either further insanity and mental damage and instability, coma or death. However, in the cases that didn't result in any of that, they were completely cured. It's obvious that this problem isn't going to go away. Every time you get to a tough time in your life from now on, you're going to snap. Your insanity will be triggered and you'll begin hallucinating."

"You...have _got_ to be kidding me. I face down hard decisions all the time! I _kill aliens for a living_. Or I did...anyway."

"That's my point, Jason! You've got no problem handling war, death, murder, complicated piloting and stealth and planting bombs and all that happy crap. However, you _do_ have a problem with the downtime in between war. When you lost your shit in New Mombasa, you still managed to kick everyone's ass _and_ complete a difficult as hell mission that helped us win the war. It's obvious that we can count on you. And Jason...if you don't take this deal, you'll be kicked out of the UNSC and the ODSTs. Maybe you can find work as a mercenary, but it won't be the same and you know it. You'll die the slow death of boredom."

"But the war's over...even if I stay, who's to say I won't die the slow death anyway?" Childs fixed him with a hard stare.

"Jason, there will_ always_ be the need for men like you and me. Us? We know the truth, Jason. The hard truth. The cold truth...that the universe is nothing more than a giant tinderbox, and all it takes is one asshole with a match to light everything up. There will _always_ be work for you and your kind until the day you fill your coffin."

"Alright...fine. You've made your point...what's the treatment?"


	43. Part V: Inception

**Chapter 43  
><strong>_-Inception-_

Jason stepped out of the room and was immediately greeted by the hulking sight of Enzo. The big Elite immediately wrapped him up in a hug and lifted him off the ground.

"Jason! I thought something had happened to you," he said, setting him down a second later. Jason laughed, thrown off by the unexpected action.

"Well, I'm glad you care about me so much," he replied. He meant for it to be joking, but Enzo looked gravely serious. He put one clawed hand on Jason's shoulder.

"Jason, you are my blood brother. We have fought together, killed together, bled together. I care a great deal about you. More so than I do my own race," he stated solemnly. Jason was honestly surprised. He did feel a certain kinship that men often felt to each other after going through one or multiple death-defying experiences. Despite this, he still hadn't been sure of the extent of Enzo's feelings towards them, except that he cared enough to stick around when the majority of his race had gone back into the void.

"Okay...have you seen Veronica?" Enzo shook his head.

"No, I have not. She's very distraught."

"If she's so distraught, then why isn't she here?"

"Jason," Childs said, gently taking Jason by the shoulder and directing him towards another door across the way. "Please, this is top priority. The sooner we get you into the machine, the better." Jason hesitated, but only for a moment, the very pressing issue of his mental instability weighing heavily on his mind. Enzo followed.

"Jason, what is happening?"

"I...well, Enzo. It's a long story. To shorten it...my mind is broken." Enzo paused briefly, seeming to consider the phrase. Finally, he nodded.

"You have the Split," he said finally. Jason gave him a quizzical look. "It is the phrase our people have for a broken mind. It happens sometimes in the battlefield, when the events one has suffered through are too much and the mind breaks even though the body might not do so. I am very sorry, my friend. There is truly no greater enemy than one's own mind." Enzo looked grave and right then, Jason felt more connected to the Elite than he had almost anyone else in his life. Childs led him into an infirmary, asking Enzo to wait outside.

"He can't come in?" Jason asked.

"It's best if he didn't. This is going to be a long process. Boring for everyone that isn't you," Childs replied. Jason looked around. The infirmary was small and simple, holding only a single examination table that had been done up with actual padding, a pillow and a blanket. A curious looking machine was situated on a rolling table next to it.

"What is this?" Jason asked, approaching it.

"Your cure," Childs replied. Jason continued staring at it. The base of the machine was a silver box with several wires hooked into it. Along the top were a collection of coils that rose from the flat surface, even more wires running into those. Another pair of wires seemed to come out of the entire thing, ending in adhesive pads.

"How does it work?"

"It's...very complicated and also very simple. Essentially, the machine puts you into a chemically-induced coma, and then allows you to consciously enter your own subconscious. You'll be inside of your own brain, interacting with thoughts, memories...and whatever is the root cause of your insanity."

"So...what will it be like? I mean...I'm sorry. I'm having a difficult time with this."

"Most people do. All of the accounts we've had state that the experience is comparable to real life. The machine puts you to sleep, then you wake up...somewhere else. It depends on who you are. Though unlike the real world, not everything is going to make perfect sense. A lot of it is figurative, metaphorical...kind of like a dream. Get it?"

"I think so..." Jason hesitated, staring at the machine. What choice did he have? He sighed and laid down on the examination table. "Hook me up," he said. Childs nodded and a moment later a pair of technicians and a doctor entered the room. Jason laid himself out as comfortably as possible as they attached the pads to his skull, on his temples, then slipped a needle into his wrist. He waited for something to happen.

A second later he went slack on the table.

* * *

><p>"Hey, kid...wake up. You like to sleep a lot, you know that?"<p>

Jason groaned and opened his eyes. He stared up at a gritty gray ceiling of cracked concrete. And Trent Temple's face.

"Trent?" The ODST grinned and offered a helping hand. Jason took it and allowed himself to be pulled roughly to his feet. "What's going on?"

"We're inside your head, kid. Time to get to work." Jason felt a flood of thoughts flash through his mind as he took in the drab environment surrounding him. They were in a huge, half-collapsed room. Several dozen men were in the area, each wearing ODST uniforms. They seemed to be sweeping the area, preforming an investigation. The far wall had caved in, revealing a bleak view of what lay beyond.

"Where are we?" Jason asked finally. "What happened?" Trent pulled out a cigarette and lit up with a replica of Jason's own Zippo.

"It's going to take a little bit to explain," he replied. "Want one?" Jason nodded. He accepted the Yeheyuan and lit up.

"Why do I like these so much?"

"Because you used to smoke them." Jason started, staring hard at Trent.

"No, I didn't. I've never smoked in my life." Trent held up his hands in defense.

"Fine, don't listen to me. I'm just the guy that lives in your head and knows almost everything about you." Jason sighed heavily.

"Fine. I used to smoke, whatever. I guess everything's up for grabs now. So, you were saying."

"This is a prison," Trent replied simply. "You built it whenever your blocked out...whatever caused the root of your insanity."

"You mean you don't _know_ what happened?"

"No, Jason. I don't. If I knew, then you'd know."

"But you knew I smoked cigarettes."

"I'm privy to _some_ top-secret information. But not that. That's something you've got to figure out for yourself. As for this prison, it held up really, really well for a long time. Years. But then it began to crack when you lost everyone on New Jerusalem. It finally broke out when you took that bump to the head in New Mombasa. I came to help keep you secure while we tried to recapture the beast."

"Why didn't you just _tell_ me?"

"Because that would have _severely_ tipped the scales in favor of the insanity. If you _knew_ you had cracked, it would have had a lot less resistance. But luckily I managed to keep you occupied long enough that once it finally did dawn on you, we had it back under control. It was a close thing, though. Now, back to why you're here. When the war ended, the prison weakened. You no longer had a constant struggle to focus on. To make matters worse, your relationship with Veronica was crumbling. When you had that fight with her..."

"It broke out again." Trent nodded gravely. He began leading Jason across the massive room, weaving in between several personnel. They all nodded to Jason and Trent as they passed them, and Jason vaguely recognized every one of them. He saw Billings, Bower, Miller. He caught sight of Echo Team, who all saluted him grimly.

"What are they doing?" Jason asked quietly.

"Cleaning up, analyzing, investigating...ultimately preparing the prison once more for when recapture it."

"I'm not looking to recapture it, Trent. I'm looking to kill it," Jason replied grimly. Trent winced and nodded.

"I was afraid of that. Come on." He led Jason through a door that led to a sophisticated preparation room. It was lined with lockers, shelves, crates and glass cases, everything packed with guns, ammo, tactical supplies, gear and armor.

"Damn," Jason muttered.

"This is everything you might need to kill it. It's going to be tough, as hell. It's got friends out there, and they'll try to stop you. It's running now, but we can track it. We know where it is, and where it's more than likely going. It always tries to go to the same place..."

"And where's that?"

"To your old apartment, on Lindholm Three...Now gear up, it's going to be a hell of a slog and..."

"And what?"

"Nothing. Just gear up."


	44. Part V: The Mind's Eye

**Chapter 44  
><strong>_-The Mind's Eye-_

For the first time in a while, Jason felt in his element. He pulled on a fresh suit of obsidian ODST armor. He slipped a silenced pistol into the holster on his hip. He slung a silenced SMG over his neck and padded his pockets with grenades and spare clips of ammunition. Trent was getting ready, too. He looked just like he had in New Mombasa. Jason was thrown off momentarily as he remembered that he wasn't just gearing up for a mission, but in fact preparing to save his own life and, more importantly, his sanity.

"Ready?" Trent asked, staring down the sights of his own SMG.

"Yeah, I'm ready as I'll ever be," Jason replied after securing a medical kit and a couple of throwing knifes. Trent nodded and led him through another door, not back out the way they came but deeper into the facility. They walked down a short corridor and through another door that led them to a similar room where others were waiting. Jason hesitated, shocked surprise obvious on his face. He stared at each of the others in turn.

Paulson was there, looking as familiar as ever with his black armor and long-barreled sniper rifle. Enzo was there, too, grinning in that strange way that Elites did. And Price was there, smoking a cigar.

"Hey kid, been a while," Price said. He flicked some ash onto the floor.

"You...you're coming to help?" Jason asked dumbly. For a moment, his head hurt, and the others looked uneasy. A soft, subtle tremor reverberated through the room.

"Ah, hell," Paulson muttered unhappily. "It's getting worse."

"We are coming with you, Jason," Enzo replied.

"What was that?" Jason asked.

"As the insanity continues unchecked, you become more unstable. The earthquakes are a result of that instability," Trent explained.

"Okay, so, before we head out. I've got a few questions. You said that last time you came out to 'distract me' while the insanity was gotten back under control. So this time you guys sent _Kyra_ to distract me?" The others looked uncomfortably.

"She kinda...took charge," Paulson replied.

"Meaning what? No one told her no? She was crazy!" Jason cried.

"Have you _seen_ that body!?" Paulson yelled.

"Oh dear, God..." Trent stepped forward.

"Jason, look, we do the best we can with what we've got. Back in New Mombasa, you were looking for a friend, and they sent me. This time you were looking for...well, more than a friend. So Kyra kind of took charge of the situation. No one felt like telling her no. You saw how she worked."

"Okay, another question. Why aren't you guys out already trying to recapture this thing?"

"The insanity has grown much more powerful since last time. This time, it's not just a skirmish that we're looking at, it's a full on war. We've sent the troops ahead to try and get the situation under control, and we were getting ready to go when we got word that the man himself was coming inside."

"Alright, one more question. Why haven't you actually tried to kill it instead of containing it?"

"We can't," Price replied simply. "It's too powerful. The least we can hope to do is contain the bastard. Now, I suggest we get moving, son. The longer we're sitting around here with our thumbs up our asses the further away that thing gets."

"But _I_ can kill it?" Jason asked as they made for the door.

"That's what we're hoping," Trent replied uncomfortably. They filed through the door, a group of battle-hardened veterans on their way into the terrifyingly unknown waters of Jason's mind. The door led to a familiar corridor. They were onboard _Cairo Station_. Trent led them through the corridors, which were alive with activity. Dozens of ODSTs were running around, all of them were carrying weapons. A sea of voices, all of them sounding urgent and professional, washed against Jason's ears as he hurried through the crowd.

"What's happening?" he asked quietly.

"They're coordinating the war effort," Price replied. "We've been hit hard, lost a lot of good men." Jason fell silent after that, feeling stupid all over again as he had when he'd first gone into training with Price. The man had been a legend in the stealth field. Pushing fifty, he'd been fighting the Covenant his entire adult life. He was grim, gritty and had a very dark sense of humor. Jason had been full of stupid questions back then.

They continued through the corridors until they reached a hangar where a Pelican was being prepped. They hurried over to it. Trent exchanged a few words with an ODST standing beside it, then nodded tightly and hustled up the ramp. Jason and the others followed. Trent took up residence in the cockpit and began running through the warmup procedures. As the back ramp began to close, the others got settled in.

"So what, exactly, is the game plan?" Jason asked.

"We know where it's going. The idea is to get ahead of it and set up an ambush. We'll hit it with everything we've got. The clock is ticking though, so we can't afford any screw ups," Price replied succinctly.

"Sounds simple enough."

"It _always_ sounds simple enough. But the simpler a plan the less a chance it has of screwing up," Price growled. He lit up a fresh cigar. Time continued to pass in awkward fragments in the silence-drenched interior of the Pelican.

"So...you guys are like...my memories?" Jason asked finally.

"Yeah, something like that," Price replied. "A lot of the stuff you're gonna see is memories. Memory is the key. It shapes the landscape, the people...and what we're up against. It's gonna be one hell of a battle," he continued grimly. Jason frowned, unhappy with the answer.

"What, exactly, is this insanity? What does it look like? What are its capabilities?"

"The beast comes in many forms, with many abilities," Enzo replied. "We can only prepare for it to a certain degree." Jason began to see just how insane this operation was. He was inside of his own head, fighting his own insanity, and it was going to be one hell of a fight. He'd been through a lot in his life...but this had to take the cake.

Jason felt his heart ramp up as the Pelican took a hard hit, sending shudders throughout the frame of the ship.

"What's going on!?" Price roared.

"We're under fire!" Trent called back from the cockpit. "They've found us! Shit! Shit!" Another pair of impacts shuddered along the Pelican. Several disconcerting beeps began to sound from the cockpit, soon accompanied by a horrific whining noise from the engines.

"Dammit! It's no good! We're going down! Hold on, everyone, hold on!" Jason held on and prayed. He was in the middle of one such prayer when the world abruptly went black.

* * *

><p>"Is he dead?"<p>

"No, moron, if he was dead then _we'd_ be dead."

"Man you're an asshole."

"You aren't exactly the brightest bulb in the box, are ya?" Jason groaned and flicked his eyes opened. He stared up through a cracked visor at obsidian skies above. It was raining. Everything was painted in neon angles.

"This...looks familiar," he moaned as he stared up at the broken skyscrapers that towered overhead. "Where are we?"

"Somewhere we _really_ don't want to be," Price replied. He offered Jason a helping hand and yanked him to his feet. Jason looked around. He was on a street broken by bodies and rubble. Several fires burned in the nearby buildings. Smashed and ruined vehicles littered the street. He turned around. Behind him was the wrecked remains of the Pelican.

"Is everyone alright?" he asked, popping his neck. He ached for a smoke.

"Yeah, we all got out clean. But we probably won't make it out of here," Trent replied.

"This is New Mombasa, isn't it?" he asked, but it was a rhetorical question. It was definitely New Mombasa. Only there was something different about it. There was a certain unreality to the city, or perhaps a surreality. The buildings were all dark, save for the fires. There was no electricity. There were bodies everywhere, more so than there had been before. Everything had an ancient and decidedly evil look to it. Everything was gritty and grim and bathed in stygian darkness. Overhead, the skies boiled with angry cloud cover.

He couldn't see the stars.

"So what do we do?" Jason asked quietly, feeling extremely threatened in this place.

"This was the last reported location of the insanity. So we sent several teams in after it. Best of the best. A lot of them haven't reported back...but communication is difficult in this place. Our best bet would be to try and get in contact with one of the teams, try to get another ride out of here. We managed to make it past The Ark and most of your time spent on Earth...but we need to go back further into the past. Best and fastest way to do it is a Pelican," Trent explained, already making his way for a nearby building.

Jason and the others followed.

"I don't get it," he said as the entered one of the crumbling skyscrapers. "This is my brain. None of this is _real_. Can't we just...I don't know, _go_ to where we need to be? Why do we need Pelicans at all?" Trent sighed.

"This my be your imagination, Jason, but it is most certainly real. At least as real as anything can be. While the rules can be bent in here, they can't really be broken. You're a solider, Jason. You've got a terrible imagination. You have a life built on rules and regulations. The Pelican represents the fastest amount of speed to you, tangibly, at least. We've got to follow the rules laid by the groundwork of your life, Jason."

Jason fell silent as they began ascending the skyscraper. It looked to be a long ago burnt-out office building. The group of warriors trudged up the stairwell in silence until they reached the top floor, then passed beyond it to the roof. While Trent began setting up a communications relay, Jason walked to the edge. He was offered a bleak and terrifying view of the city, spread out before him like a malignant tumor. Everything was blackened and dead and decayed. The area was wrought in misery and suffering.

"Jesus," he whispered.

"Ugly, ain't it?" Price asked, walking up to stand beside him and lighting a cigar. Jason nodded and felt around his pockets for a spare smoke. He found a pack of Yeheyuans and lit up.

"New Mombasa was worse than I remember, wasn't it?"

"No...not exactly. What you're seeing now is the decay of memory. You're forgetting New Mombasa. It won't ever be gone, but it'll fade. I'll tell you, son, I don't like our odds. This thing...it very well could be your downfall. Facing it head-on...well, it's brave. I'll give you that. I'd have done the same thing. You've got brass balls, kid. But it could get you killed."

"I'd rather be dead than risk having this happen every time life gets tough," Jason replied. Price nodded.

"I feel the same way." Jason turned around as Trent gathered everyone's attention.

"What's the good word?" Paulson asked.

"Well, I've got an okay word, at least. There's still some squads in the area. They're getting ready to pull out, as it's pretty shitty in here, as we expected. I've managed to get a location on one of their extraction points. If we can make it there, we can commandeer their Pelican and press on to the apartment."

Trent finished packing up the relay and led them back the way they had come. As they descended the decrepit stairwell, Jason felt a shiver of fear run through his spine. Chances were that whatever was causing the root of his madness was in this city with them.

And, chances were, it would be hunting them.


	45. Part V: The Hard End

**Chapter 45**_**  
><strong>-The Hard End-_

The city crumbled around them. Trent led the way with Jason just behind him, Enzo and Paulson flanking them along either side of the street and Price bringing up the rear. Everyone was swift and silent, making their way towards a nav marker two kliks deep into the city. It was going to be one hell of a hard slog, Jason knew that much. All around them, he could hear disturbing sounds. Guttural growling and awkward squawking and demonic laughter. It all seemed to echo from everywhere around them.

"What army follows the insanity?" Jason asked quietly.

"The Covenant," Trent replied, as if the answer should be obvious. Jason figured that it should have been. He thought the sounds were familiar. They pressed on, hurrying down the street and cutting across a square in between a collection of high-rise apartment buildings. Every now and then they would hear gunfire ring out, but it was never very long-lasted. So far, they had yet to run into anything living.

They managed to make it half a klik before Trent held up his fist. Everyone took cover behind whatever they happened to be near, scanning the area.

"What's wrong?" Trent asked.

"Something's shadowing us," Price growled. Jason looked around. He didn't see anything, but there was no doubting the ominous tension that seemed to be rising with every step they took.

"What do you think it is?"

"The insanity," Trent replied grimly. Everyone was silent.

"What do we do?"

"We keep moving and pray to the Gods that it does not catch up with us," Enzo replied. After another moment of scouting the area, the group hurriedly picked the pace back up. They kept going, the general sense of foreboding and uneasy tension rising further and further. The rain picked up, drenching the desolate wasteland that surrounded them. Jason began to hear snippets of sound, uncertain noises that seemed to have no discernible quality save for the fact that they were deeply terrifying.

And what was worse was the fact that tremors were beginning to ripple through the city. They could hear the distant but incredibly disturbing and loud rumblings of collapsing skyscrapers as the tremors shook the burned-out city. They had just passed the halfway mark when they finally ran into something resembling enemies.

"Halt!" Trent growled. Everyone went prone in the street. Jason felt his fear swelling within him as something stalked out of an alleyway five meters ahead of them. It was enormous, easily reaching nine feet in height. It was bulky with raw muscles, though the details were difficult to make out in the darkness, even with the help of his VISR. The thing issued a guttural grunt and sniffed the air. The sound was disturbingly familiar.

Lightning forked the sky, briefly illuminating everything. Jason suppressed a gasp as he recognized what the thing was: a Brute. Only not a regular Brute, but twisted, mutated somehow. Its features were demonic, its mouth a snarl of jagged teeth. The eyes glowed a sullen red in the darkness, resembling dying stars. Just as Jason was beginning to question what they were going to do, lightning lit up the sky once more. This time, when the thunder came, Paulson fired out a single shell. It connected directly with the Brute's skull, vaporizing it.

The body fell to the ground. Everyone waited in mounting tension, but nothing happened. Trent gave the all clear and everyone rose to their feet. They all moved to the far side of the street, which was hidden in a deep nest of gloomy shadows.

"What the _hell _was that?" Jason asked quietly as they made their way past the massive corpse.

"Brute," Price replied simply.

"That is _not_ a normal Brute."

"It's been mutated. You see them in your mind as more than they really are. Especially in this place." Jason gave it one last look before moving on. He checked the nav marker. They had little under a klik to go.

That's when all hell broke loose. There was a brilliant blue flash that at first Jason took for lightning. Then Paulson screamed and flew forward, landing a couple of meters ahead of where he'd been standing. Jason spun around and spotted a group of malignant Covenant making their way down the street towards them. Another bolt of blue burned out into the sky, narrowly missing Trent as he and the others began to return fire. Jason ran over to Paulson, who had managed to roll over on his back. He was coughing violently.

"Jesus Christ..." Jason whispered, staring at the fist-sized hole in Paulson's stomach.

"Get-the hell-outta-here!" Paulson managed through gritted teeth.

"No-" Jason began, but Paulson grabbed him roughly.

"I'm dead anyway you moron! Get outta here!" he screamed. Paulson began coughing, blood sprayed the inside of his visor. He abruptly went slack, the light fading from his eyes.

"Into the alleyways!" Price screamed. Jason's legs reacted even though his brain wasn't in the mood for anything but despair. He bolted into a nearby alleyway after catching only a brief sight of the twisted versions of Covenant that now hunted them. He tried to wash the memory from his mind, but knew that he'd never be able to. Jason paused in the rainy, decrepit alleyway after running for several moments.

All around him, he could hear chaos: desperately shouted orders, the deep, demonic voices of the twisted Covenant, gunfire and explosions. But as he began to orient himself along an axis that would take him to the nav marker, he heard a hauntingly familiar voice whisper his name. He whirled around, hunting the surrounding darkness. Just as he thought he could see something moving in a nearby window, a hand fell on his shoulder.

"Come on, son! We can't rest here!" Price yelled. Jason nodded tightly and took off. The next several moments were a confused montage of rainy brick walls, the occasional flash from gunfire as the Covenant found them and Price running ahead of him. After what felt like an eternity, Jason and Price finally popped out of the complex network of alleyways into an open courtyard where the remains of the team they'd contacted earlier were waiting with a Pelican.

"Where's Enzo?" Jason asked when he saw Trent appear. The ODST shook his head.

"He's gone," he said quietly. Jason felt panic tear at his heart. Enzo couldn't be gone. He took a step towards the alleyway. Price put a restrictive hand on his shoulder.

"Use your head, son! He's not really dead and we need to _move_!" Jason roused himself, seeing the logic of Price's words. He turned and hurried up the back ramp with the others. Only a trio of ODSTs from the strike force had made it. They were silent and faceless, hidden behind opaque, obsidian visors. Trent moved hurriedly to the cockpit and began to close the back ramp. Before it had fully closed he had the ship moving up and away from the ruined, false New Mombasa and the army of twisted Covenant.

Jason sat back and waited, praying that they would get there in one piece this time.

* * *

><p>"There it is," Price muttered. Jason stood and walked to the front of the Pelican, where Trent piloted and Price hovered over his shoulder.<p>

"My God..." Jason whispered, staring at the colony where he had spent a significant portion of his life in. Lindholm Three was a small planet, not really important to anyone but those who inhabited it. At least, that's what they had thought, until the Covenant came screaming out the skies with their plasma cannons to burn the cities into glass. Despite how New Mombasa had looked, Parker, the colony, looked good. Pristine, in fact.

"Why does this place look so good?" Jason asked.

"Because you like to remember how it looked before it was glassed," Trent replied.

"What's our destination?" Trent pointed.

"There." Jason frowned, spotting an area bathed in decaying blackness, marring the golden perfection of the colony. He immediately recognized the location as his apartment building.

"Man, that's ugly," he muttered.

"Yeah, it's a top secret location. No one's been allowed in for years. Lucky for us people know enough to stay away, so security hasn't been much of a problem. And now we're finally breaking the seal," Price said unhappily. Trent brought the Pelican down to an abandoned lot near the apartment building. He shut down the vehicle and lowered the ramp.

"Everybody out!" Price called. They pounded down the ramp, making their way hurriedly across the street to the parking lot of the apartment building. Everything seemed to be cast in a bleak, despairing rot. Price and Trent were on point, entering the apartment lobby barrel-first. After a couple of moments they came back.

"Clear," Trent said. He pointed at the three silent ODSTs accompanying them. "You three, set up camp out here." There were a trio of affirmative responses and they began setting up. Jason followed the others into the apartment building. Jason took in the lobby as he walked through it. Everything was mottled and filthy, covered in a film of ancient dust. Price was inspecting the area, Trent was checking his gear.

"This is all so weird," Jason murmured. "I haven't been here in so long..."

"There's a good reason for that," Price growled. He lit up a fresh cigar. Time began to pass in swollen fragments.

"I think I should go take a look at our apartment," Jason said.

"Might not be a good idea," Trent replied. Jason hesitated.

"Why?"

"Not sure...just a feeling." Jason sighed. Who was he to ignore his own subconscious? Everyone glanced over as there was a whisper of noise from outside.

"What was that?" Price muttered, raising his rifle. Time continued to pass. When nothing happened, Price began to move forward. He approached the door, peering cautiously outside. Jason wanted to move forward to join him, but Trent shook his head, motioning for him to hold his ground. Price stepped outside, disappearing from view. The seconds ticked by in awful tension. Suddenly, there was another ghost of a noise, and Price's head flew into the door, bouncing off the far wall with a bloody splat.

"Jesus!" Trent screamed. Abruptly, the front half of the room was torn away. Something, Jason couldn't tell what it was, shot forward into the room with a howling shriek of berserker fury. Jason began to raise his weapon and fire, but he was picked up and thrown across the room. He barely had a chance to witness the insanity falling on Trent before he crashed into the far wall and collapsed to the ground in a groaning heap.

As he crawled painfully to his feet, he surveyed the scene before him. The room was a torrent of chaos, debris scattering the floor. Trent was an unmoving heap on the ground. Jason stumbled towards him. The insanity was gone, having disappeared deeper into the apartment. Jason knelt by Trent and immediately discovered that the man was dead. He sighed quietly, feeling another grim twinge of wrenching pain tear at his soul.

Slowly standing, Jason turned towards the corridor that led deeper into the building. His rifle was gone, but he still had his pistol. He loosed it from its holster and, holding it two-handedly, moved into the midnight gloom of the corridor. His apartment was on the third floor. He took it slow, getting to the end of the hallway and glancing up the stairwell. He could hardly see anything, so black was the decay, but he heard a quiet bout of laughter. It was very familiar. Swallowing, Jason began to ascend the stairwell.

The apprehension continued to mount as he made his way up. Time seemed to snap forward, because suddenly he was standing atop the stairwell, in front of his apartment door. It was open. He swallowed again, nervous as ever. He heard a sound that was instantly familiar: Lindsay moaning in pleasure.

Jason suddenly had a coppery taste in his mouth. Pure, awful, painful fear began to well up slowly, malignantly, through his stomach. His heart pounded in his chest. Something was apocalyptically wrong here. He began to walk slowly into the apartment, the pistol loose in his hand as realization slowly dawned on him.

He had been here before.

He had seen this before.

And it had broken him.

He kept going, tracing the sounds of Lindsay's voice to its origins. With the barrel of the pistol, he pushed the bedroom door open. So caught up in their ecstasy were Lindsay and her lover that they didn't notice him. Jason stood there for nearly a full minute before Lindsay's eyes fell on him and she screamed.

"Jason! Why are you...you're supposed to be at work!" she cried.

"I got off early," he murmured, the words leaving his mouth before his brain had a chance to even form them. He felt numb, incredibly so. He looked at the man in the bed, naked and sweaty.

"Peter," he murmured. "You're supposed to be my best friend." Peter had nothing to say, he was just staring at Jason. At the pistol in his hand. Jason glanced down at himself. His armor was gone. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. But the pistol. It was still there. He and Lindsay had decided to buy one after a robbery had occurred at their apartment complex. The pistol was real.

"Jason...please put that down," Lindsay whispered, her voice barely audible. Jason stared at the pistol for a moment longer.

"Why?" he asked quietly. "Why did you do it?"

"Jason...I..." She kept her eyes on the pistol. Fury suddenly took him. He stalked forward and pointed the barrel of the pistol to her forehead and pulled back the hammer. The sound of the pistol cocking was incredibly loud in the bedroom.

"Jason-" Peter began. He turned the pistol on him.

"Shut up!" Jason turned the pistol back to Lindsay.

"Why? _Why_!?" he screamed. He was no longer in control of himself. This was a situation that had already played out, years ago. Lindsay was crying silently.

"I'm so sorry, Jason. But...you're so distant!" she yelled suddenly. "You're always inside of yourself! You _never_ let me in! You never tell me what you're thinking! I needed help! I just...I called Peter and asked him to help me out and...one thing just led to another..." Jason screamed a roar of inarticulate rage and took a step back, the pistol still held firmly in place.

"How many times has that sentence been said?!" he screamed. "'It just happened.' 'One thing just led to another.' Don't give me that _bullshit_! You're my _fiancee_! You _love_ me! God_damnit_!" Jason screamed, he turned away suddenly, staring at nothing in particular. After a moment he turned back. He turned the pistol on Lindsay, then on Peter, both screaming in turn. Finally, he pulled the pistol up to his own temple, his finger tightening on the trigger.

"Do it," Lindsay whispered after several seconds. Jason had been squeezing his eyes shut. He opened them. Lindsay looked different now, and Peter was gone. "Do it!" she hissed. She began changing, subtly. Her fingers began to grow longer, her teeth began to sharpen to fine points. Her eyes started to take on the dying-star glow of the warped Covenant. Her skin began to crack and flake, becoming hard, like leather.

"No," Jason whispered. He hadn't done it then...he wouldn't do it now. The Lindsay-Thing hissed viciously, a long, forked tongue snaking out of her mouth.

"_Do it_!" she shrieked. Jason snapped the barrel forward and empty the clip into her face. A long, piercing scream echoed out, nearly rupturing his eardrums, but he continued pulling the trigger until the clip was empty. The Lindsay-Thing suddenly slumped in the bed, becoming a slack tangle of bloody, blackened limbs. Jason let out a sigh of relief and dropped the pistol. Abruptly, the entire world began to shake and shift.

He ran to the window, staring out into the colony. He watched as it began to collapse. Jason felt an immense relief shoot through him as a blackness began to consume his vision. His knees gave out and he fell to the floor.

* * *

><p>"I think he's coming out of it."<p>

"Are you sure? He looks-"

"Yes. Looks at his vitals."

Jason groaned and flicked his eyelids open. A halo of faces were hovering over him. He saw Enzo, Veronica, Childs and a technician and medic.

"Hey, kid, you made it," Childs said quietly.

"How long was I out?" Jason groaned. He felt exhausted, emotionally, mentally and physically. His soul felt wearier than it ever had before.

"Little over an hour," the technician replied. Jason heaved a weary sigh. He was drained, the experience had taken nearly everything out of him.

"Alright, give him some air," Childs said. He and the pair of personnel backed away, leaving Veronica and Enzo. Enzo was smiling, he placed a hand on Jason's shoulder.

"It is very good to see you well and cured, my friend," he said.

"Yeah, it's really, really good to see you, too. It was...it was pretty bad in there." Jason reached up and touched Veronica's face.

"And it's really good to see you, honey," he murmured. Veronica reached up and touched his hand, smiling sadly at him. He frowned. Something was wrong. Veronica gently pulled his hand off of her cheek. She took it both her hands, squeezing it.

"What's wrong?" Jason asked.

"Jason, I...can't do this anymore. I'm sorry. I just can't. I can't handle it...I'm leaving you," Veronica whispered. There was silence in the infirmary. She let go of his hand and took a step back. Jason continued reaching for her.

"Please..." he whispered. "Please, please don't do this. Please don't leave me." Veronica shook her head gently, tears forming and rolling gently down her pale face.

"I'm so sorry, Jason." She turned and stepped out of the infirmary.

And she was gone.

Jason felt a wave of numbness washing over him, covering up the intense, agonizing suffering. Childs stepped forward.

"Jason, I'm sorry about that, but we need to talk about your Survivor Status now and-" Jason shook his head, waving the man away. He stood up, turned and faced Enzo. He put his hands on Enzo's shoulders.

"Enzo, you're my best friend in the galaxy. You're the only one left I care about...I don't want you to worry about me," he said gravely.

"What are you going to do?" Enzo replied warily.

"Leave."

"Where?"

"To Earth. Away. I need to be alone." Enzo nodded reluctantly.

"I understand." Jason turned and walked out of the infirmary. He expected Childs to rush out after him, but he was left alone. Jason felt dead. He pulled a Yeheyuan out and lit up as he made his way for the pod bay. He was done here. Done with this life. He didn't want to think anymore. Didn't want any of this shit.

He found the drop pod bay. There was a single technician present in it, working at a console. He glanced up as Jason made his way for one of the pods.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" the tech asked.

"Leaving," Jason replied bluntly.

"But you don't have authorization-" Jason whirled to face the younger man, who frozen.

"_Try_ to stop me." The tech remained silent, backing away. Jason turned and opened up the pod. He ran through the warm up procedures, chose a destination and then punched it.

He was finished here.


	46. Part VI: Cold & Broken

_**Part VI: Darker Days**_

**Chapter 46  
><strong>_-Cold & Broken-_

The pod hit dirt with a solid crunch. For the first time in his life, Jason didn't kick the door out, gun in hand, prepared for anything. Instead, he punched the panel to pop open the door and staggered out into the rainy gloom beyond. Desolation surrounded him. Twilight was fading fast in the cloudy skies above. Jason shuddered as he looked around the bleak wasteland. Less than half a mile away was a city, the one he'd been in not two nights ago, chasing ghosts again. Shoving his hands into his pocket, Jason began walking.

* * *

><p>Jason wasn't thinking about much. At the moment, his brain felt as if it had been put through a blackout. Only the most basic urges had any real pull with him anymore. He wandered into town, sullenly making his way through the rainy outskirts. He made his way past apartment complexes and low-grade housing, staring at the sidewalk as he walked. He didn't want to think anymore, didn't want to have anything to do with Veronica or ONI or the UNSC anymore. The war was over and there was nothing left for him.<p>

Before he knew it, Jason had wandered deeper into town, into the red light district. Brothels, night clubs, strip joints and bars lined the streets around him, bathing everything in hot neon. Jason kept walking, tired, broken and weary. He stared around at the various buildings. He was looking for something, he knew that much. But what? An idea formed as he passed a tattoo parlor, and he remembered something.

When he'd first joined the ODSTs, he and some of his friends had tossed around the idea of getting black wings tattooed on their backs. Angels of Death, streaking down from the skies, awash in flame and justice. Only the opportunity had never arisen. Now it had. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. There was a lanky man in a netted tank top behind the counter, staring at a datapad. He glanced up.

"Hey, man. We're closed up for the night." Jason frowned.

"What would it take to open back up?" he replied. The man laughed and shrugged.

"Ah, I dunno...a thousand credits?" Jason held up his credit chip.

"Deal." The man set down the datapad and stared at him for several seconds, frowning.

"You're serious, aren't you?" he replied finally. Jason nodded. The man came from around the counter and stuck out his hand.

"I'm Tuck, I'll be doing your tattoo. Whatever the hell you want," he said. "Lemme lock up."

"Alright." Tuck locked up and closed the shudders on the front of the shop, then led Jason back deeper into the room. Jason handed him the credit chip and let him swipe it. He returned it to his pocket, then shed his damp shirt and tossed it on the ground. He took a seat where Tuck indicated.

"So, what're we doin'?"

"Big, black wings on my back. You know what I'm saying?" Jason replied.

Tuck nodded. He retrieved a datapad from a nearby table and spent a moment searching through it. Finally, he flipped the pad around and showed him. Jason stared at the design being presented on the screen. It was beautiful, a pair of big, black, billowing, feathered wings with ashes gently falling from them. The design would take up almost his entire back.

"Do it."

Tuck nodded and set down the datapad. He had Jason move to a stool without a back and spent a moment gathering his tools. The process took a while, and hurt a great deal. Jason enjoyed it. There was an old line he'd heard at some point or another, and he hadn't really known what it meant until that moment. 'I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all'. Jason knew that tattoos nowadays could be done much easier than this, but Tuck did it closer to the old-fashioned way, and Jason sat there and relished the pain as it etched across his back.

"Alright, man. Done." Tuck took a step back, then took a picture of his back with the datapad and showed him the result. Jason stared at the image and smiled. It was practically a copy of the one he'd seen before getting the tat.

"Any special things I need to know about it?" he asked.

"No, man. It may have hurt like an old-school tat, but it works like a new one. It's set man. Good to go. Need another?" Jason considered it. Finally, he nodded.

"Yeah, gimme an ODST flaming skull on my right bicep." Tuck raised an eyebrow.

"You an ODST?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"Just asking, sometimes...guys come in here, want to get a military tat but they aren't in the military. I always have to warn them, you get that shit and you _aren't_ in the military, you're likely to get your ass kicked on general principles." Jason laughed and sat back down. Fifteen minutes later he had his second tattoo and swiped another three hundred credits out of his account. Money was something that Jason had never had to worry about, especially now. He'd made so much of it during the war that he could live easy for the rest of his life.

"Thanks," Jason said, making for the door.

"You want your shirt?" Jason considered it, then shook his head.

"Toss it."

"Sure, man." Jason stepped back out into the rain, taking a moment to enjoy the simple pleasure of the rain falling on his bare flesh. For once in his life, Jason felt the urge to indulge in his more basic compulsions. For the most part, he'd been a subtle man, at least outside of combat. He tried never to show off and did his best to keep what arrogance he might have in check. He felt that his ability to give a shit had been spaced out the airlock.

He began walking down the street again, pulling out a Yeheyuan and lighting up. The taste was instantly familiar, now that he knew he had smoked them before. He began looking around, hunting for the next thing. Jason was beginning to remember that there had been a couple of things he'd wanted to do after the war was over. Things he promised himself he would do if he was still alive and kicking and the Covenant weren't.

One of them was to get those tattoos. There was another thing. He'd always wanted to sleep with a redheaded stripper. Jason looked around. He found a strip joint not far down the street with a sign of burning blue neon that proudly displayed _Sex Club 7_. Jason chuckled and tried to remember a time of subtly as he pushed his way in. As he stepped in through the door, a large, frowning man stepped in his way.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice sounding so deep he more than likely spent his spare time eating cigarettes.

"In," Jason replied simply.

"What makes you think you can just walk in?" Jason pointed to his flaming skull tattoo. The man opened his mouth, followed Jason's finger and then closed his mouth. "Shit," he muttered. He stepped aside. "You can go in."

"Thanks." Jason stepped past the man and made his way into the strip club. The air inside was hazy with smoke. At least some of it was of a questionable legality. Jason began making his way slowly through the crowd, pushing his way towards the front, where the strippers were. He found an empty space at the front and sat down, staring at up at the women. There were half a dozen of them, each of them painfully beautiful in their own way.

Jason caught the eye of one of two redheaded ones currently on the stage. She came over and leaned forward, smiling at him, her impressive, pale breasts hanging between them.

"Hey, honey. Ten credits will get me for a minute, fifty credits for five." Jason smirked.

"And what does a couple a hundred credits get me?" he replied. The stripper raised her eyebrows.

"_That_ will get you some private time in the back room for a lap dance," she replied with a big smile. Jason shrugged and stood up.

"Deal." She got down off the stage and called out to one of the bouncers.

"Is this a hands off kinda deal?" Jason asked as she led him deeper into the club, away from the pounding music and the crush of the crowd.

"I dunno...you're kinda cute. Maybe not...we'll see," the redhead replied, leading him into one of the back rooms. He took a seat. Jason let his eyes run over her body as she began to do her thing. She was in excellent shape, her muscles small but well-defined against her flesh. They seemed to glide smoothly under her unblemished, pale skin. She was tall and lean, which was seemed offset by the size of her impressive breasts. Jason reasoned she must've had implants, but they had to be pretty high class, since they looked incredibly real.

"So, who are you?" she asked.

"Just an ODST," Jason replied. She smiled at him.

"Oh really? A war hero?"

"Something like that. I spent time on the Ark and fought here on Earth at the end of it."

"I kinda have a thing for war heroes."

"I kinda have a thing for redheads...what would it take to get out of here and find somewhere a little more private?"

"Got another couple hundred?"

"Yes."

"Then let's go."


	47. Part VI: Pour Me

**Chapter 47  
><strong>_-Pour Me-_

Her name was Misty. She was twenty nine. She was also incredibly good at sex. Jason laid beneath the blankets in her cool, dim bedroom. Rain tapped the window and neon lights from across the street provided a dim light. Jason was on his back, an arm wrapped around Misty. She lay sprawled out, half across him. Both of them were naked and sweaty, their clothing abandoned in heaps at the foot of the bed. Jason smoked a Yeheyuan and stared at the ceiling.

"Can I have one?" Misty asked.

"Yeah." Jason fished a cig out from the half-crushed pack he'd abandoned on her bedside table, handed it to her, then lit it when she stuck it in her mouth. He snapped the Zippo shut and tossed it back onto the table.

"You were _really_ good," she murmured sleepily, rolling off of him and lying on her back. Jason put one hand behind his head and continued to stare up at the ceiling.

"You too," he replied. And she was, even better than Veronica had been. Best he'd had in his life. Jason kept smoking.

"So, mister war hero, what are you doing around here?" Misty asked, rolling over and propping her head up on her hand, staring at him and smiling. Jason glanced over at her. She really was extremely attractive. He found it distracting.

"I'm on leave. Some well deserved leave. I just wanted to blow off some steam," Jason replied. Misty smirked.

"Well you sure blew enough steam tonight." Jason chuckled. She reached across him and flicked some ash into the ashtray there.

"What about you?" he asked.

"Me? I'm nobody special. Just Misty the Stripper. I grew up here. I've got a fast metabolism and a bit of a thing for working out, so I lucked out. I also discover that men are willing to throw money at you if you take your clothes off. I've been at it for like five years now. It's good money. I imagine murdering aliens is good money."

"The best." Jason blew a blue smoke ring and felt lethargy crawling through him. "Care if I spend the night?"

"No, I don't mind." Misty reached over and stubbed out her cigarette. She kissed him on the lips and smiled. "Goodnight, killer." Jason hesitated, the phrase was intimately reminiscent of Kyra. He shook the notion from him and kissed her back, bidding her goodnight. He stubbed out his own cigarette and curled up against her, pressing himself against the smooth warmth of her skin. Vaguely content for the moment, Jason slept.

* * *

><p>Jason slept through most of the next day. He attributed it to the fact that he kept waking up every couple of hours and making love to Misty. She didn't seem adverse to it. By the time he woke up for real, the sun was setting. He slowly sat up, rubbing at his eyes. Her side of the bed was empty but not yet cold. He could hear water running. Jason moved to the edge of the bed and pulled his credit chip from his pocket.<p>

He half expected to find it empty, as he'd loaded it up with five thousand credits from his account. But it didn't seemed to have been tampered with. Had he found the one stripper not only willing to sleep with him but not steal from him? He should have run away from his problems _years_ ago. That thought caused a twinge of unease to ripple through Jason, so he stood up and headed into the bathroom.

"Hey, you," Misty said from the shower. The air was thick with steam. Jason wiped some of the fog from the mirror. He had to admit, he looked a little bit better.

"Hey. I'm surprised you haven't kicked my ass out yet," he replied. Misty laughed.

"I told you, I got a thing for war heroes. Why don't you join me and we can have some more fun before we head out?" Jason stepped into the shower, again taking in her long, lean, well-formed body.

"Where are we heading out to?"

"I was thinking we could have some drinks. There's a great bar I know nearby."

"So I'm cool enough to keep around?"

"For now. Now bend me over and get inside."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

><p>The bar was seedy and murky with smoke. A real hole in the wall. Jason had been to a few places like it. He enjoyed the atmosphere. He could feel himself finally relaxing. Everything had been pushed aside...but as he sat at the bar, drinking with Misty, he knew it wouldn't last. He could feel the tension slowly working its way back into his head. He shoved it away as he downed the rest of the drink, slammed the mug down and pushed it across the bar to the bartender.<p>

"Another," he said. The bartender nodded and refilled his glass.

"My, my, you sure seem to be putting it away. I hope you can hold your own," Misty said. She was wearing little more than a sports bra and gym shorts. It was still raining out and their walk her had dampened them both. Her fiery red hair was plastered to her pale face. He'd managed to find a replacement shirt in her bedroom, probably her boyfriend's.

"I'm a heavyweight," Jason replied simply. And wasn't it the truth? He'd made the unfortunate discovery that getting drunk was _very_ expensive for him. He took another drink. Misty began to say something, but it was interrupted by a heavy hand on Jason's shoulder. Jason sighed. He heard Misty make an unhappy noise, followed by,

"John, what are you doing here?" The bar stool was swivel, and Jason felt himself be turned slowly around.

"Who are you?" A large man with tattoos covering his arms and part of his face stared unhappily down at Jason.

"My name is Jason," he replied simply. "Are you Misty's boyfriend?" John nodded silently. He let go of Jason, his hands clenching into fists. "I understand," Jason said. John let Jason have it with a solid blow to the jaw, the force of the punch so hard he was knocked off the bar stool. Misty screamed and everyone else in the bar stopped talking. Jason blinked and shook his head. His jaw hurt, he tasted blood. He spat a thick wad of it onto the floor and stood up.

"Hey, that was a good one. Lemme have another," he said. John frowned and glanced at Misty uncertainty, then socked him in the face again. Jason felt a fresh wave of pain explode across his face and stars washed across his vision. He groaned, falling back onto the bar stool. He reached up and gently probed his right eye.

"Hoo, boy. That's gonna be a black eye," he muttered. "You in the Marines?" he asked. "You hit like a Marine."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" John asked finally.

"Well, by my count, you still owe me a couple more, man. Because I had sex with your girlfriend like...six times." John's reaction was immediate and painful. He slammed his fist across Jason's jaw a second time, sending him sprawling once more to the ground. Jason began laughing, a loud and broken sound across the bar.

"John, stop!" John reached down and began pulling Jason to his feet.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Get up," he was growling. "Get up you son of a bitch." A gunshot suddenly rang out in the bar and someone screamed in surprise. Jason turned and was honestly surprised to see Childs standing in the doorway to the bar, holding a smoking pistol pointed at the ceiling. He still had his uniform on.

"Everyone out!" he called. "ONI business!" He pointed the pistol at John. "That means you too, son." It didn't take long for the bar to empty, the unhappy bartender remaining uncertainly behind the bar. Jason sighed and picked himself up off the ground. He sat down at the bar and continued drinking from his mug, which had remained undisturbed through the whole thing. Childs walked up and sat down next to him. Blood leaked into Jason's mug, mixing with the booze. He turned and spat a thick wad of blood onto the floor.

"Vodka," Childs said. The bartender stared at him for a moment, then at his pistol, now holstered, and set down a mug. He poured it full of vodka.

"So," Childs said after several moments of silence.

"So," Jason replied, staring at nothing in particular, drinking.

"So, you ready to come back yet, son?" Jason heaved a weary sigh.

"What makes you think I'm coming back?" Childs chuckled.

"You may be able to fool yourself, kid, but you can't fool me. You're a beast, and a solider. You need me more than I need you, and you know it. You can't run away from your problems forever, Jason. And what I said earlier, about how they'll always need men like us? Well, it works both ways. We'll always need them. To protect. To fight against. It's a cycle, and you're a part of it. And the only way out is the grave. And you know that." Jason didn't say anything for a long time. Finally, he finished his drink and lit up a Yeheyuan.

"Yeah, I guess I do," he said quietly.

"Come on, Jason. I've got a hell of a deal for you. You'll love it. Come with me."

"Is Veronica around? I don't want to have _anything_ to do with her."

"No. She's transferred from _Cairo Station_, out of system. Doesn't matter anyway, I'm about to give you God status...or close to."


	48. Part VI: Reconstruction

**Chapter 48  
><strong>_-Reconstruction-_

The _Dauntless_ loomed ahead of them. Jason sat back in the co-pilot's seat of the Pelican and rubbed his temples. He felt like shit. His head hurt and he was groggy from too much sleep and beer. But he felt satisfied. The sex with Misty had been very good, although the revelation that she wasn't single...wasn't much of a revelation. Jason knew that chances were she had a boyfriend. And there had been something...liberating about letting her boyfriend beat the shit out of him. He kept rubbing his temples.

"Feel any better?" Childs asked.

"Yeah, I guess so...but I've been wondering about something since this whole thing went down," Jason replied.

"And what's that?"

"Is there really an ONI Black Ops?" Childs was silent for a long time, so long that Jason thought that he wasn't going to answer. Finally, he spoke up.

"Yes, there is. I'm not one hundred percent sure how you got such an accurate description of it, it's possible that Veronica told you about it and you just forgot. Likely, even. But yes, there is a Black Ops. It's a step above me and Zero. They're largely self-sufficient. I get intelligence reports every now and then. Presently, they're scouring the galaxy for Forerunner artifacts that might help jump-start the Human race after all that happened with the War...but that's another situation entirely. What we've got planned for you and your friend is what's more pressing." Jason raised an eyebrow.

"Friend? Enzo?"

"Yep. He's also a part of the Survivor Initiative."

"So what is this...Survivor Initiative?" Childs held up his hand.

"Don't worry, I'll explain everything, but I'd prefer not to have to do it twice. Enzo knows about as much as you do presently. Once we get you both in the same place, then I'll spill everything. But let me say this now, it's going to take a tremendous dedication on your part. If you have any plans for life beyond protecting the Human race at any cost...well, then you'll have to jettison them out the airlock if you want to join up. Just think about that for now."

Jason was silent as they began the docking procedures with the _Dauntless_.

* * *

><p>"Jason!" Enzo wrapped Jason in another hug and Jason tried his best to return it, opting instead to pat the big Elite on the back.<p>

"Good to see you too, buddy." Enzo let him down.

"Man, they weren't kidding about you two," Childs muttered. He had led Jason through the brightly lit halls of the _Dauntless_ to a briefing room where a pair of men wearing ONI Section Zero uniforms had been sweeping it for bugs.

"Are we clean?" Childs asked. Both men were consulting datapads. They looked up and nodded. "Alright, you can go." They disappeared from the room. Childs walked to the door and punched in a code on the keypad next to it. It turned from green to red, then to black.

"And we are...secure," Childs murmured once the sequence was complete. He turned to face them, then motioned for them to sit around the table that dominated the room. Jason and Enzo both took a seat at one end of it, Childs sat opposite of them at the other end.

"My God, your briefing chairs actually have _padding_," Jason muttered, shifting around in his chair. Childs chuckled.

"More funding," he replied. "Now, gentleman. You're both here for an incredibly important reason. For a long time now, ONI, the UNSC and Humanity in general have been putting all of our considerable resources towards ending the War. Well, now the War is ended. And we've only just begun the reconstruction efforts. But there are those in Section Zero who have been pushing for a new project, and we've been collecting data on it for several years now. And we are _finally_ at the advent of that project. _You_ are at the advent of that project.

"That project is the Survivor Initiative. There have been those that have theorized that luck is a measurable force in the universe. There are some people that luck sticks to, for lack of a better term. The Master Chief, as you know, is one of those people." Jason snorted.

"Bullshit, he's gone."

"MIA, not KIA. We're still looking for him. But if you could look at his record...the Chief is, statistically speaking, one of the luckiest men in our history books. We've been looking for others, we call them Survivors. They keep on going, they stay alive despite _absurd_ odds. You two are two such individuals. When we began to suspect that you may be candidates for Survivor Status, we had Bennings start putting the brass tacks to you and ran you through through those trials. You've passed, both of you." Jason held up his hand.

"Okay, so me and Enzo are lucky. So what? What do you want to do with us?"

"Bring you into the inner fold of ONI Section Zero, give you nigh unlimited resources and top-tier clearance. You'd have Q-4 clearance. You'd pretty much be able to do literally anything. You'd report directly to me and Section Zero. Your prime objective would be simple: deal with unique and unprecedented threats."

"'Unique and unprecedented threats?' What the hell does that mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. Not all the planets out there are safe, uninhabited rocks with atmospheres and oceans. There's a lot of strange things in the galaxy, DuPree. Unknown lifeforms, paranormal activity, completely unique situations, most of them lethal. On top of that we'd be using you to take down top-tier threats to galactic safety." Childs fell silent, staring evenly at both Jason and Enzo. He allowed them time to digest the information.

"You said it would take a hell of a commitment. I imagine it would take more than just saying 'I promise'," Jason said finally. Childs chuckled.

"Very astute. Both of you, but especially you, Jason, would have to undergo cosmetic surgery to alter your appearance. Different retinal scan, new fingerprints, new face. Now, we can do all this in just an hour, here, onboard the _Dauntless_, once you give the go-ahead. New identity, too. New name. Though you, Enzo, wouldn't have to undergo that particular change. You can keep your name."

"Why can't I?" Jason replied.

"Enzo is a surprisingly common name for an Elite."

"And Jason is a common name for a Human!"

"Actually, it's not. We checked. The main issue is that while both of you were thrown all over the news, it was you, Jason, that they focused on. So you need a new name. Now, you can choose all the big important things if you want. I imagine you will." More silence played out, but Jason already knew the answer to the most important question. Was he going to do this? What choice did he have, honestly? He turned to face Enzo.

"What do you think, Enzo?"

"I think it is a chance to do some good in the galaxy," Enzo replied. Jason nodded and turned back to Childs.

"And I assume the Elites are in on this?"

"Oh yes. We're coordinating with the upper echelons of their government and military. Primarily the military. While they may have mostly retreated back to their own homeworld to rebuild, they still have their eyes on the galaxy at large. They know how important a project like this is. We have their full cooperation and they have ours," Childs replied. Jason nodded.

"You've got a deal."

* * *

><p>Trent had been staring into the mirror for about five minutes. Childs had not been bullshitting. After making the actual decisions, the procedure had taken little more than an hour. Jason DuPree was gone. He'd taken on a new name: Trent Temple. It seemed fitting. His murky brown eyes had become sharp and blue. His hair had been darkened another shade deeper into full, jet black. He'd been given a jagged scar down the right side of his face that went from the bottom of his eye to his chin that he was still getting used to.<p>

Trent thought it would make the most sense to assume this identity. What was Trent Temple to him besides a Tyler Durden? What had Tyler said? 'I look like you wanna look, I screw like you wanna screw. I am smart, capable and, most importantly, I am free in all the ways that you are not.' Well, maybe the dynamic hadn't been so sharply defined, but he'd seen a lot of who he wanted to be in Trent Temple. The idea had presented itself almost immediately after Childs had suggested the name and face change. And he loved it.

Trent laughed, running his fingers along the edge of the scar. It felt real. He realized that an abrupt identity switch probably wasn't the most ideal situation for a man who had just finished dealing with a major insanity crisis. But oh well. Childs and the technicians seemed positive that he'd been cured of his breakdowns and hallucinations.

There was another thing on his mind, though. Childs had told him and Enzo that they would have to survive a pair of trials by fire. They, along with other Survivor Initiates, would have to investigate a pair of unique, high-risk threats in order to prove, once and for all, that they really were lucky. Trent laughed again, the idea sounding almost absurd. They were being given God clearance and unlimited funding because they were _lucky_?

But Childs, and the top minds of Humanity in Section Zero, seemed to think that there was enough science behind it to make it worth it. Trent turned away from the mirror, satisfied. On top of the obvious stuff, he'd had a few minute, subtle changes done to his face. He'd be surprised if Veronica would have recognized him right away. He'd nearly shouted when he'd first been shown the mirror. But now Trent was used to, well, Trent.

At least he hoped so.

Trent turned and left the room, making for the bridge. Childs was there, and so was Enzo. They were on their way to meet up with the other hopefuls.


	49. Part VI: Trial by Fire

**Chapter 49  
><strong>_-Trial By Fire-_

The _Dauntless_ made one stop at an isolated ONI space station before plunging once again back into the dark, dead reaches of space. Trent and Enzo followed Childs through the mostly empty corridors of the vessel as they headed back to the briefing room.

"So I imagine they've all been brought up to speed," Trent said. Childs nodded.

"Yes. They're all in roughly the same situation you're in."

"Good, so we'll be working with professionals. Been a while since I've operated with anyone but Enzo that could handle the workload."

"Well, it's going to be a hell of a workload...or it might not. We're not sure, actually. Only that it's deadly. Come on." Childs led them into the briefing room. It was almost full now, Trent noted as he sat down with Enzo in one of the few remaining chairs left open. Five other people sat around the table. Childs began going around the table, introducing everyone.

Stone was a grim looking man who specialized in sniping and scout work. He was tall, long and lithe with a freshly shaven head and grim green eyes. Eric Staccato was a technical expert who also had long ago mastered the skill of firing a gun, any gun he could get his hands on. He had a wild look about him, as if he might explode at any moment. His hair was longer than regulation and he was toying with a datapad.

Blair was much like Stone, grim and silent. He was a large man, bulky with raw muscle. He had the look of a battle-hardened killer who'd seen far, far too much combat and had now simply grown accustomed to it. Cannioto was a medic and had an extensive background of patching up soldiers in the field. He was a former ODST who'd seen action on Delta Halo, Earth and the Ark. He wore a black beanie tight against his skull that bore a red cross inside of a white circle. He had a hollow, tired look at him.

Melissa was the only woman in the group. Another technical expert with a thing for shooting her way to her goal, she was slim and tight-bodied with shoulder length brunette hair and blue eyes that seemed lit from within. She noticed Trent staring at her and gave him a dark smile and wink. He returned his attention to Childs as the introductions were brought to a close and the real briefing began to get underway.

"Now that you're all acquainted, we can get this show on the road. We're currently en route to an isolated M-Class moon named Kyo. Among other things, it is home to a small research station set in the middle of a large forest. You'll have time to view all the relevant data on the ride down, as we'll be arriving within the hour. But the primary bit of data is this: something is haunting the base. We don't know what it is, where it came from or what its capabilities are. Only that it's hostile and so far five people have been killed.

"And we only have one photograph of it." Childs had a holographic imaging device set into the center of the table bring a three-dimensional image to life. The lights dimmed automatically to allow everyone a better look at it. Trent immediately felt a shudder of fear ripple down his spine to pool coldly in his gut as he stared at the image.

Whatever it was, it was mostly hidden among trees. It was tall, and long, he could get that from the image. It almost blended in with the trees around it, as it was mostly the same color, taking on a sort of camouflage effect. There appeared to be multiple limbs sprouting from an otherwise human figure.

"What...the hell is that?" Blair muttered.

"It's your job to find out. Find it, and kill it. And recover the body." Trent continued staring long into the image with the others until Childs killed the projector and raised the lights.

"Alright everyone, come on. I've got an armory that'll make you happier than hell."

* * *

><p>Trent was satisfied with his gear. He'd had it all packed into a crate and then loaded up onboard the Pelican they were riding down to be shipped with him and the others to the research station. He'd managed to grab a traditional suit of ODST armor, his usual compliment of silenced weapons with extended clips and laser scope, and a cocktail of grenades. Some of the others had hoarded a cache of very powerful weapons, up to and including rocket launchers. Trent had always been a believer in traveling light.<p>

He and the others were presently making their way down to the colony. Officially speaking, they were specialists from the UNSC with ONI clearances. The Survivor Initiative was, for the most part, being kept secret until they could bolster their ranks. Funding and materials were in place, but they were only now getting through the trials by fire. Trent was seated next to Enzo, contemplating their mission.

One thing that kept distracting him, though, was Melissa. She kept glancing at him. He found it difficult not to take notice. While his encounter with Misty had been very satisfying, he was beginning to suspect that he had a lot of missed opportunities to make up for. He'd been basically celibate from the age of nineteen to twenty four.

The ride down was mostly quiet, each warrior seemingly content to keep to themselves. Trent kept his own peace, knowing that there would probably be more than enough chances to get to know everyone over the coming days.

That is, provided they survived.

* * *

><p>The colony was unimpressive. It was little more than a large central building with a cluster of low, one-story structures sprinkled around it, all of it walled off by a chainlink security fence. The Pelican landed on one of two landing pads and deposited its crew, then powered down. Trent knew that the <em>Dauntless<em> was waiting in orbit, monitoring them. The idea that all of this was a simple test, and that it was a life-or-death test, was absurd to him on some level. Professionals should be handling this, but weren't they professional?

He surely felt so, and he knew Enzo was. And the others seemed very much the same. And they had access to whatever they felt they needed...so what was this strange feeling? Why did it all feel a little...bullshit, for lack of a better word. Maybe because what was a test to Trent and those like him had already gotten nearly half a dozen people killed, and might get more before they were through. Even if they got through. This thing could kill off the entire colony, Trent and everyone else, and they would have never found out what it was or how to stop it.

What would ONI do then? Probably send more hopefuls. Trent suppressed a sigh as he grabbed his crate and brought it towards the hangar. He glanced around, studying the area. It was raining lightly, bathing everything in a soft mist. The forest surrounded them on all sides. Malignant shadows seemed to lurk amongst them, giving the forest an eerie undertone. Trent shuddered briefly. He was going to have to go in there at some point.

He and the others were escorted into the hangar, which doubled as a garage. There were only a handful of vehicles around, most of them Mongeese. He smiled, briefly, as he saw them. He loved Mongeese, though he rarely got to ride them. He set his crate down with the others. They were each marked with the name of the owner. A collection of Marines who had been hanging around in one of the corners of the hangar came over and began picking up the crates to take them to their designated quarters while another stayed.

"I'm Corporal Garry. I've been instructed to take you to Sergeant Copper. He'll brief you on the situation," Garry said. Trent nodded, allowing the young Corporal to lead the way. The man seemed incredibly nervous but at the same time extremely relieved. Trent understood. Finally, someone was here to take control of the situation and, hopefully, bring it to a close. The group was led through a series of brightly-lit corridors, passing only a handful of orange and blue suited technicians along the way.

They were finally led to a small office that housed little more than a desk and a handful of chairs. Sergeant Copper, the man in charge, sat behind it. He looked tired, worn-out and bleak. He was drinking some tea and rubbing his temples.

"So, you're them, huh?" he asked, staring at the group.

"Yep," Trent said simply. "Trent Temple, ONI." The sentence felt very strange, coming out of his mouth. Copper nodded, as he did, Trent noticed a slight glint in his nose and realized it was a nose ring.

"I'd offer you guys a chair but there aren't enough, so why don't we get down to business?" he asked. "We first encountered the...whatever the hell it is, two nights ago. Two of my people went missing when they went into the woods for some...fun. God alone knows why, we've got perfectly good beds in all the quarters...anyway, they never showed back up. We searched all day, found nothing. But some of the men started getting strange feelings, like they were being watched. When the next nightfall came, last night, three more of my men went missing. They were out on patrol, since I knew something was up.

"We pushed LifeScan out as far as it would go, got nothing but woodland creatures and us. However, we did pull footage from the exterior cameras and got nothing but a lot of static..._except_ for the image among that footage that I forwarded to your commander. I imagine you've seen it." Trent suppressed a shudder as he nodded.

"So...that's where we stand. We basically know a whole lot of nothing. I've had the technicians go over the cameras and the internal systems, praying for a malfunction, but they couldn't find a damn thing wrong. We've got eight hours before nightfall. Time to get settled in and get ready before it comes back."

"So it only comes at night?" Trent asked. Copper nodded.

"That's what seems to be the case." Trent frowned, briefly, staring out the window, past Copper. Where was it during the daytime? Finally, he nodded.

"Alright, we'll get settled in, then get set up for an ambush." Copper perked up, interested.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Not entirely sure yet, but it's going to be violent." Trent turned and left then with the others. Garry was still outside. Upon request, he led them to their quarters, deeper in the base. After several twists and turns, they found the living quarters and the wing that had been assigned to them. Stone, Cannioto, Staccato and Blair each went to their own quarters. Trent, Enzo and Melissa lingered outside in the corridor.

"What do you think?" Enzo asked quietly.

"I think we've got a handful here," Trent replied just as quietly. "This definitely feels like a horror story. It's going to be tough. I'm working on a plan now and I think the others are going to follow me. I think everyone but maybe Blair are followers, which may be what Childs was planning on. I don't know...I need to lie down for a bit. I'll meet up with you in an hour at the garage." Enzo glanced past him, at Melissa, who seemed to be waiting on them to finish up their conversation, arms across her chest, pushing her breasts up.

"You should make it two hours," he said, then disappeared into his cabin. Trent turned and looked at Melissa, who was grinning a predatory grin at him. She approached him now that they were alone.

"Hey," he said, trying to sound casual.

"Hey there. I was thinking we should get some quality time in beforehand," she said, pushing past him and heading into his quarters. Trent watched her go, staring at her as she shed the tank top she'd been wearing.

He followed her in and closed the door behind him, locking it.


	50. Part VI: Malignant

**Chapter 50  
><strong>_-Malignant-_

"Is it really this easy?" Trent was smoking a Yeheyuan, one of the few remnants of his already tenuous former life. He was somewhat surprised at how easy it had been to simply become another man. Much of it he knew resulted in the support from ONI, but still...had he really been so isolated that he could simply disappear and no one would notice? His family was long dead, Veronica was gone and she might ask questions...and Enzo had come with him. Everyone from his past was either dead or gone, it seemed.

Except for Lindsay. Childs had said that she was alive...Trent knew now that he was lying when he said they didn't know where she was. Everything about the way he had said it to the absurd idea that anyone could hide from ONI, especially a civilian, pointed towards it. But, now that he knew the truth about her, did he really want to see her?

"Is what really so easy? Gimme one of those," Melissa replied. Trent handed her the one he'd already started smoking and lit up a new one. Among the things he'd thrown into the crate had been a carton of smokes.

"Getting laid." Melissa laughed, a loud and pleasant sound in the living quarters. They both lay naked in the bed, the sweat still cooling on their bodies.

"Well, isn't it? We're in the military, STDs are no longer a threat, haven't been for a while. The option to prevent pregnancy is a shot in the arm and boom, you're set for five years. And if you want to get off of it at any time, boom, another shot and you're set for kids. I know there's still some moral debate over casual sex but," she took a puff and blew a perfect smoke ring. "Whatever. Like it matters. Sex is sex. And besides, you're _hot_ and pretty good at it. So yeah, it _is_ this easy...but you ask that question like you don't already frequently do it."

"I..." Trent closed his mouth, uncertain of how to go on. He took another puff. Melissa rolled over suddenly, staring at him.

"Do _not_ tell me I just took your virginity," she said. "Because I refuse to believe that." Trent laughed and shook his head.

"No, no. Nothing like that. It's just...well, I lost my virginity to a girl in high school, and we ended up getting engaged. But that...fell through, when I was nineteen. And then...well, I didn't do it at all for about five years." Melissa's eyes widened.

"Five _years_! You're shitting me."

"Nope," Trent held up his right hand, cigarette stuck between to fingers, palm out. "I swear it."

"Holy _God_. No wonder you went so hardcore." Trent laughed again.

"Did I really?"

"Yeah."

"Well, anyway, I finally broke my long no-sex policy back in October. That was...wait, what month is it now?" Trent asked. He was surprised at just how completely he had lost track of time.

"It's March."

"Okay, so, yeah, from October to just about a week ago, I was getting pretty regular sex from my girlfriend, and then I slept with a stripper a couple nights ago...and now you." Trent flicked some ash into the square black ashtray he'd packed away in his crate.

"So...wow, you've had four sexual partners your entire life. And you're an ODST?"

"How'd you know I was an ODST?"

"You wouldn't have chosen that armor if you weren't an ODST. Or that tat. And besides, you've just got an ODST feel about you. All Helljumpers do. I've had a few of them." Silence fell on them and Trent felt himself tempted to take Melissa for another ride. He stuck his cig in the ashtray, then stood up.

"Come on, we should shower and then get ready. Whatever this thing it...it's going to be coming around in seven hours."

* * *

><p>Trent managed to get a small group of technicians and Marines together to help his core group of Survivor Initiates. He had all the others but Enzo and Melissa out in the woods, scouting the area. Trent stood in the hangar and stared at a holographic map set up on a foldout table. The map was of the outpost and a quarter mile of forest surrounding it. The Marines and technicians swarmed around him, a hive of activity, gathering the appropriate supplies.<p>

"So this is where they were taken?" he asked, staring at a pair of red dots on the map. They were both on the eastern side of the base. The tech who'd provided the map nodded.

"Yes."

"And you said you checked the cameras? Which ones showed static? Feed the information into the holographic map." The technician consulted a datapad for several seconds, then fed the data into the holographic display.

"I thought so," Trent muttered. The cameras on the east side of the compound all registered static and interference. He sighed quietly, contemplating the situation. Finally, he nodded to himself. "I want work-lights up on the eastern side of the base, as many as you can spare, full power. Throw as much light onto that area. I also want everyone to have nightvision goggle." The tech frowned.

"Why?"

"For if and when the work-lights fail. And everyone needs to have on armor with helmet-mounted cameras that are consistently transmitting to a feed back in the security center. I want that being recorded and several personnel watching it live. Make sure we'll all routed through the same channel."

"Anything else?" Trent thought for several seconds, then shook his head. "Alright, I'll get right on it."

"Thanks." The technician disappeared into the shifting crowd of others. Trent resumed staring at the overhead map of the compound and the forest surrounding it, further contemplating the situation. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

><p>Time passed. Sunshine faded into twilight, then into a star-stained darkness as the sun disappeared behind the horizon, fading into memory. Brilliant lights penetrated the darkness surrounding the compound and heavily armed and armored men moved about in the woods. Trent had everyone split up into groups. He kept the base personnel into groups of five and his own team in even smaller groups.<p>

He and Enzo were presently making their way through the forest. Trent had silenced SMG slung over his shoulder, safety off and ready for action. Enzo had taken a shotgun, which surprised Trent, as he always thought the Elite favored his own species' brand of weaponry. They were both decked out with gear and outfitted with cameras recording across all possible spectrums. Trent was hoping to pick up something, anything, but his gut told him that this night was going to end in misery for everyone. Wasn't that how most of his nights had been going lately?

Trent was just finishing up checking in with the team leaders.

"Echo Team, report in." There was a pause that lasted just long enough that Trent began to repeat his request. He felt himself tensing. Something had gone wrong already. He could feel it.

_"__This is Echo Team Leader, one of our men is missing. We're in Grid Six. Christ, he was here just one second ago..."_

"Who's closest?" Trent snapped, already making his way towards their present location.

_"__I'm on it,"_ Stone replied, his voice cold and deep, much resembling his name.

"Baseplate, give me some answers. What's going on with the missing man?" Trent said as he and Enzo began jogging through the brilliantly lit forest.

_"__This is Baseplate...Private Sanders' feed is dead. No life signs. It cut off almost instantly. Nothing on the video unit, either. It's all dead."_

"Shit!" Trent growled. He and Enzo raced on, rushing between the trees and through the underbrush. The sound of others could be heard, spread out through the forest. It was as bright as day out and Trent continually scanned the area for any sign of threat. Something was wrong, he could feel it. The cold prick of eyes, inhuman eyes, were on the back of his neck. They were being watched, all of them, by...something.

Trent stopped as he ran into Echo Team. He blinked in surprise when he saw only three men standing there, weapons raised.

"Where the hell's your fourth guy?" Trent asked.

"He's...shit! Where the hell's Baker?!" the team leader cried.

"Everyone zero in on grid six perimeter, it's in grid six. Baseplate, tell me you got something!"

_"__I'm sorry, Sergeant Temple, there's nothing! The feed just went dead. There was some static, then dead."_

"How much static? How long?" There was a pause.

_"__Interference ran for approximately seven seconds."_

"The _second_ you start seeing any other interference, warn the person in question and inform me. And _no one goes off on their own_! Everyone watch who you're with!" There were a series of affirmative responses. The sound of others closing in could be heard, and before long the area was crawling with Marines. Trent felt somewhat out of his element. He was used to fighting an enemy he could see, not something that could apparently hide in plain sight. He kept a close eyes on the trees around him, remembering the unsettling picture from before.

After nearly fifteen minutes of nothing, a loud screaming and gunshots abruptly cut through the air. It was from far off, near the edge of the grid they'd established.

"Who is it?!" Trent cried as he began rushing through the trees once more.

_"__Sergeant Stone! There was no static this time! It just...went dead!"_ Trent cursed and hurried. He could hear as much as sense Enzo running beside him. The big Elite began to pull ahead of him and Trent fought to keep up. Within seconds the gunfire and screaming had ceased, but there was a sound of underbrush being disturbed. Trent kept going, but stopped abruptly as something incredibly strange caught his eye.

There was a pool of what appeared to be pure darkness lying on the ground. He stared at it for several seconds, his mind working furiously, as the others swarmed around him.

"What _is_ that?" Enzo whispered. Trent's gaze snapped up, suddenly.

"Everyone fall back to the compound! I repeat, fall back to the compound _now_!" The men seemed to have no problem complying with that, and began to retreat. The other Survivors, however, gathered around him as he knew and pulled out his knife, scraping up some of the liquid darkness.

"What the hell is that?" Melissa asked.

"It looks like blood...I think Stone wounded it. Come on, we need to get back inside," Trent replied.

"But what about the creature?"

"It's going to have to go free for another night, but I've got a plan."


	51. Part VI: Malevolence

**Chapter 51  
><strong>_-Malevolence-_

Daylight crept over the horizon and stained the landscape.

Trent stood in the entrance to the garage, staring out over the forest with baggy, bloodshot eyes. A smoking, half-dead Yeheyuan hung from his lips. He was exhausted and depressed. They'd lost several good men last night, including one of the Survivors. There'd been no radio contact from the missing personnel, nor any sign of the creature after Trent had called for the fallback to the base. Everything remained static.

"Hey, man." Trent glanced over, his startle reflex suppressed by his lethargy.

"Hey, Cannioto," he replied. Cannioto laughed and lit up his own cigarette, a Marlboro Crimson, using a golden Zippo with a red cross on the side.

"Just call me Cann...everyone else does. So, hey. I heard you hooked up with the tech." Trent laughed, breathing out a haze of blue smoke.

"Christ, this is worse than high school...can't a man get his rocks off without everyone in a mile knowing about it?"

"No way. Not if the chick is smoking hot." Trent shrugged. He needed sleep, they'd done as much as they could for the moment, and he had another plan set up for the following night. But he'd be no good if he didn't get some sleep.

"How was she?" Cannioto asked after a couple of seconds.

"Really good. Limber, lots of stamina. You thinking about hitting it?" Cannioto shook his head, raising his hand.

"Nah, she's yours. For this mission at least. Don't worry, anyway. I found one of the locals. Blonde Marine girl. She's let herself go a little, living out here, but," he shrugged. "I like thicker thighs."

"My ex had some thick thighs. She as ONI." Cannioto shuddered.

"Wow. You've got some balls. Those ONI intelligence chicks are supposed to be icy as space. But I've heard that if you _can_ get into their pants, they're _good_."

"Oh, she was good. Sex hungry but...it didn't work." Trent shrugged and flicked his nearly-dead cig to the ground, stamping on it. "So, I'm going to go get some sleep. Are you going to be ready to go tonight?"

"Oh yeah. You can count on me."

"Good...it'll go better this time."

"We hope." Trent turned away and headed into the garage.

* * *

><p>Trent gasped awake in the cool darkness of his room, the images and emotions of the nightmares still fogging his mind. He relaxed, realizing that he wasn't in any real danger. The fan he'd had brought to him sat on the bedside table, quietly blowing cool air onto him. He let out his breath slowly, trying to relax. He glanced over. Melissa was lying next to him, facing him. She looked beautiful in her slumbering state.<p>

She opened her eyes, suddenly, startling him.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah...I'm fine. Just...nightmares. You?"

"I'm fine."

"You look fine." Melissa grinned and sat up.

"I think we're beyond the compliments stage of the relationship. You already got into my pants." Trent shrugged.

"Nothing wrong with giving a pretty girl a compliment." Melissa rolled her eyes. She reached across him, her breasts brushing against his arm and chest, and grabbed his pack of Yeheyuans.

"God, you're gonna make me blush," she complained. She lit up and passed him the pack. Trent looked at the clock on the table. Nearly ten hours had passed. He sighed. Been sleeping too much lately. But he was _still_ tired from his experience inside of his own head. Trent suspected it might take a little while to fully recover from that. And diving headlong into a mission and another woman might not be the best for his recovery.

Then again...he glanced over at Melissa. She raised an eyebrow.

"What? Another round?" she asked.

"Tempting but...we should get ready. I'm going to take a shower."

"Why can't we do both?"

* * *

><p>"Alright, tell me you have <em>something<em>." Trent was practically begging, but last night had been a living nightmare. The technician glanced back at him from the console he was manning. At first, his face was grim, but then he smiled.

"I've got something." Trent laughed, relieved. Everything he was planning for tonight hinged on this technician. He motioned to the screen before him.

"We've been at it for fourteen hours...but we finally managed to feed the DNA of that sample you brought us into the LifeScan. That's what I've got for you. We fired it up but...well, that's the bad news. Unfortunately, we haven't been able to detect the thing. It's nowhere within the range of the LifeScan. But, at least, this time around we'll be able to give you guys some warning." Trent frowned. It wasn't what he was hoping for exactly...but it was better than nothing.

"So where the hell _is_ he?" he muttered.

"No idea. He's either beyond the range of the LifeScan or..." Trent glanced at the tech.

"Or what?"

"Or...he's somewhere else."

"Like...where?"

"Based on the evidence of what I saw last night, he seemed to be almost...popping in and out of existence. And we found no evidence of the ones he's taken. Maybe he comes from...another dimension?" Trent's frown deepened as he considered the situation.

"You don't think that sounds a little crazy?"

"Of course it does. That doesn't mean it's not happening. If you'd told anyone before the start of the Human-Covenant War that we'd be pushed to the brink of extinction by a collection of religious, alien fanatics from the stars, they would have called you crazy. Or, hell, look at the Flood. The Forerunners?" The tech shrugged.

"Yeah, I suppose so. But even by those standards...another dimension is pretty damned far-fetched. Though I suppose it doesn't matter. I've got another plan for tonight. Here's what I'm going to need..."

* * *

><p>Trent rubbed the back of his neck, then popped it. It had taken an hour, but they'd set up the equipment and personnel he'd requested. He'd spent a while talking about it with the others, and they all agreed that his plan seemed fairly sound. He was going to do a reversal, honestly something he should have done in the first place. Instead of going into the woods and trying to hunt down the damned thing, he was going to make it come to him.<p>

He'd had Blair, Melissa and a couple of the locals posted up high atop the base with sniper rifles. Cannioto was on standby in the hangar with a team of armed medics, prepared for anything that might happen over the course of the night. Enzo was hanging back with a squad of the more experienced Marines, all of them heavily armed and armored. They were the backup. Eric had volunteered to join Trent as the bait.

As night fell once more, the day slowly dying from brilliant sunshine into a sullen furnace glow of ghostly embers, a misty chill began to seep into the landscape. Trent shivered as he patrolled the perimeter of the base with Eric. He wondered if the creature would even show tonight. It had been wounded the night before, and had made quite a haul. And it had to know that they would be only more prepared for it.

Or did it? How intelligent was it? Surely, if it could pop in and out of existence, it must be extremely, terrifyingly intelligent. Unless it wasn't. What if that ability was just...natural? Or what if it had stumbled onto a piece of technology far, far beyond its comprehension in terms of engineering, but it had discovered how to use its most basic function? These thoughts plagued Trent as he continued his tedious but nerve-wracking patrol with Eric.

They talked and shared cigarettes while they waited.

"So, what's your life look like, Staccato?" Eric laughed, a short, bitter snort through his nose.

"About the same as yours, I imagine, right now. Though without the sex." Trent rolled his eyes.

"Everyone seems to be on me about that."

"Not as on you as Melissa apparently is." Trent couldn't help but laugh. "I was curious...why don't you...I don't know, flaunt it more? Smack her ass some, give a kiss, grab her tits. You know."

"I do all those things," Trent replied defensively.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Behind closed doors. You've got no PDA going on."

"Should I? I don't know...what about all the guys that _aren't_ getting any? I don't want to rub their faces in that."

"Why not? I would."

"Because I've been there. I know what that's like. A sexless life isn't always a fun one. But don't think I didn't notice how you so gracefully redirected this conversation from you to me." Eric shrugged and flicked some ash onto the ground.

"Not much to tell to a guy like you, Temple. Or should I say, DuPree?" Trent looked at him sharply. "Oh yeah. Your little secret is under tight wraps, but there's no secret so tight that I can't burn through a few firewalls to get at it. I know all about your history. It's what I do, my hobby. I love reading people's profiles and psyche evals..._ho_ boy, if only the others knew they were working with a certified nutjob..."

"I'm cured," Trent replied quietly. Eric dropped his easygoing manner for a moment and stared long and hard at Trent, frowning intensely.

"Are you?" he asked. "Are you really?"

"Yes, I am," Trent replied firmly, though he thought there was more to Eric's question than what appeared on the surface. Eric shrugged and relaxed again.

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. I know the guys who are running this operation. They aren't idiots, and they wouldn't have put you up for Survivor Status if they didn't believe you could do it. Besides, I like your history. It's interesting." Eric winced suddenly and reached up, massaging his temples.

"You alright?"

"Fine, fine. Keep your eyes out for the boogieman." Trent shuddered at that, almost having lapsed into a state of keen relaxation. Something he knew he shouldn't do, but he'd been starved for attention lately.

Trent began to fish out a fresh cigarette when a shudder seemed to run through the base. The lights flickered, the generators hiccuped, coughed and then resumed. There was a soft, whispering ghost of static in Trent's headset. For a second, he thought he could hear somebody, or some_thing_ whispering over the open channel.

"What's going on? Talk to me, Baseplate," Trent demanded. The response was almost immediate.

_"__I've got something. A flicker on the LifeScan. It's out there but...it seems to be popping in and out of existence, slowly making it was way towards the base...towards you and Staccato."_ Trent felt his gut harden and go cold. He gripped his silenced SMG a little tighter, sweeping his gaze out and away from the outpost, into the woods.

All at once, a low, haunting bass rumble shuddered throughout the area. It rattled Trent's bones and nearly made him piss himself in some deep, primal fear reaction. He glanced over at Eric, who had clenched his teeth so tightly he'd bit through his cigarette. He spit out the remains and raised the shotgun he was wielding.

"Let's do this," he growled, facing the woods. Trent joined him, keeping still, trying to prepare himself for anything. He knew there were over a dozen others covering him, weapons armed and ready. The knowledge didn't give him as much comfort as he'd hoped it would. Because when you got right down to it, he and Eric would be on their own out here at first. And those first few seconds seemed to count for so much more in times like this.

He stared long into the forest, which was drenched with light. He could see everything clearly. The trees, the underbrush, the bushes and branches and dirt floor. For several moments he remained stationary, motionless, willing movement to become apparent to him. He was just getting ready to say something to Eric, maybe to go a little deeper out, that maybe it wasn't taking to the bait, when it happened.

There was a flicker of movement near the treeline, something dark and long and slender. Trent only caught a glimpse of it, but that was all he needed. He knew nightmare fuel when he saw it. The flicker was gone, then it popped back into reality again, closer this time.

_"__It's within ten meters of the base!"_ the technician called needlessly over the comm unit. Trent tried to track the thing's movement with the barrel of his SMG. He was about to squeeze the trigger, beginning to see a pattern, when someone on the roof, probably Blair or Melissa, beat him to the punch. A sniper round rang out in the night and whizzed in between both Trent's and Eric's head, far too close for comfort.

The round smashed into the creature as it snapped into existence once more. There was a spray of black blood, followed promptly by a loud but incredibly low roar of fury. It rattled Trent's bones once more, but this time he was more prepared. The creature stumbled backwards, barely catching itself, and this time Trent _did_ get a good look at it.

The thing was hideous, a twisted caricature of what might have been a man. It was tall, easily reaching ten feet in height. Its limbs were long and slender, multi-jointed and bending at several awkward angles. Its skin almost seemed chameleon-like, partially taking on the shades and colors of its surroundings. Though the effect seemed ruined by the nearly glowing black blood and the wounded state of the thing.

Trent took aim, stared down the holographic sights of his SMG, then froze as the beast locked eyes with him. If its body was alien, then its face was entirely other. It had a pair of leaning slits for eyes, swelling and contracting rapidly, revealing a deeper darkness, something the color of black holes, within. There was no nose. Its mouth was a horizontal slash, a mockery of a grin, twisted into something evil and malignant.

Trent broke out of the trance-like state he had fallen into, his reflexes forcing him to pull the trigger as the nightmare began to advance on him. As he did so, Eric's own shotgun spoke and another pair of sniper rifle rounds rang out. The bullets converged on the creature's central mass, what might have been its chest, and it bellowed again. Though this time it sounded more like panic than anger. It startled to shift and go blurry around the edges, and Trent realized it was trying to shift back out of this plane of existence.

He quickly reloaded and threw a fresh stream of bullets into the ungodly horror. It uttered another bellow, this one closer to a shriek, and then collapsed. Trent let out his breath slowly, his eyes still locked on the unmoving heap. Enzo and the others were coming out now, weapons free, covering the monster. Once they came within proper shooting distance, Trent let them have the monster, his knees weak, his legs trembling slightly.

"Excellent job, my friend. Very brave," Enzo said, clapping him on the back. Trent laughed wearily.

"Yeah. Great job. I could use a drink."


	52. Part VI: In Transit

**Chapter 52  
><strong>_-In Transit-_

In the cool, dark environment of his cabin, Trent stared out of the floor-to-ceiling window, seated at the desk that had been provided. His face was illuminated by the soft light offered by distant stars, as they had just fallen out of faster-than-light transit into some _other_ system that Trent had no real ideas about.

He was thinking, as he often did in times like this. This was how it seemed to go. You got dropped feet first into hell, into the shit, and they left you to duke it out with whatever current bad guy was screaming around, smashing everything to bits. For years it just been the Covenant, then the Flood...only now it was getting different. Deadlier. And, somehow, he'd just kept living. Which was apparently why he had the job he had now.

But he wasn't thinking about the creature, which Childs had nicknamed Slender when he'd seen it. Or how Stone's body had never turned up, nor had they been able to find any evidence of the others, though Childs had left behind some experts to 'follow up'. He wasn't thinking about how they'd been whisked away on a sleek, black speedship. Wherever the _Dauntless_ was, he had no idea. Chances were, he'd never see it again.

No, he was reflecting on a barren mountainside, lightyears away and months ago. Of a dying man telling his tale. Behind him, Melissa stirred in their bed, shifting and twisting beneath the blankets. Trent remained seated. He'd already had a shower and dressed. He was going to head out, but the stars had caught his eyes...Melissa stood, walking up behind him. She placed her smooth, warm hands on his shoulders and then slid them down to his chest, leaning forward. He could feel her bare breasts pressing against his back, through the cloth of his uniform.

"Hey, what are you thinking about?" she asked softly.

"A dead man."

"Who?"

"His name was Gage Yevgenny...he was an ODST. A real hardass...I only knew him for...damn near twenty minutes, before he died."

"Well, he must've left an impression, what with all this brooding in the dark." Trent chuckled.

"I guess so. I haven't thought about him too much lately...maybe every now and then. But now...I've been running into people just like me. Survivors. Warriors. Killers. People that can hold their own with me and it's...been a while since I've run into anyone like that. Beyond Enzo, at least." Melissa laughed.

"_Some_one's got a big head." Trent rolled his eyes.

"Oh, give me a break. I can kick ass with the best of them. I've survived shit that's killed literally thousands of others." Melissa patted his chest.

"Relax, relax. God, _men_." Trent laughed, stood and popped his shoulders and neck, reliving some of the residual tension that had built up there. He turned to face her, placing his hands on her pale, smooth shoulders.

"Where do _we_ stand?" He was surprised by how bluntly the question had come out, he'd meant to ask it more tactfully. But wasn't that how these questions always came out?

"I don't know, where _do_ we stand, Trent? I mean, we have sex and I feel comfortable enough to go to sleep in your bed and let you snuggle me. Does it have to be anything more?" He shrugged, letting his hands fall to his side.

"I doesn't have to be, I guess. I just...my last relationship didn't go so well. It blew up, really, because I didn't stop and ask those all-important questions. I mean, can this even be called a relationship? Are we exclusive?" Melissa pursed her lips in consideration. He resisted the urge to lean in and kiss her.

"Yes," she decided finally. "If you're willing to keep it in your pants around other ladies, then I'm willing to keep it in _my_ pants around other dudes. But..." she patted his chest. "We shouldn't think any further, because chances are we might not survive what's coming up."

"Well, _actually_...chances are we _will_ survive what's coming up." Melissa rolled her eyes.

"Pride goeth before the fall."

"Hey, this time I've got _science_ on my side. I am, we both are, scientifically lucky."

"Fine then. Chances are, after we run this little gauntlet, they'll split us up and send us off to fight fires halfway across the galaxy."

"I'm sure I can talk Childs into putting us together. Twice the people, twice the luck."

"_Well_, Mister I-have-the-answer-for-everything. Let's just have _fun_ until there's no more fun to be had. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Good. Now, you're done brooding. I'm going to go take a shower. Go...go be social."

"Yes, dear." She smirked at him, then disappeared into the bathroom. He considered joining her, but ultimately decided she was right, and that Gage had been right, and that he shouldn't stop making friends. He left his cabin.

* * *

><p>Trent roamed the brightly lit corridors of the ship for which he knew not the name. He passed several men in dark uniforms that bore the ONI Section Zero crests on their chests, all of them quiet and lost in their own little worlds. As he hunted down the others, Trent thought about what it meant to be Trent Temple. He knew all about being Jason DuPree, and a lot of that had transferred over into this new personality.<p>

But Trent was supposed to be the man he wanted to be, not the man he had been. So who was Trent Temple? Handsome, for one. Trent was far more satisfied with this face than he had been his own. Melissa hadn't made any complaints...though she didn't know that he wasn't who he originally had been. He wondered if that was going to throw a wrench in the relationship if and when it finally came out. That made him think of Veronica, which made him frown intensely. The bitch had left him at the worst possible time...

But hadn't be been griping about how desperate he was for sex with someone else? He thought the relationship could probably have been patched up, though, if he had tried. He was in a time of desperate need...hell, he still was. And if she had stayed, they probably would have been okay. But maybe not, considering his current assignment. So, again, who was Trent Temple? It was an important question.

Trent passed an open door and heard familiar voices wafting out from within. He poked his head in, finding a rec room. If there was one thing he was for damned certain about, it was that Trent Temple was going to make some new best friends.

"Trent, my good friend!" Enzo cried. Trent laughed as he spied the scene before him. It was incredible, surreal even, like a work of art by a particularly bizarre artist. Enzo, clad in what passed for an Elite uniform, had a cigar firmly clutched between two his mandibles, a pool cue in hand. Eric was leaned over the pool table set in between them, lining up a shop, a bent white cigarette in his grinning mouth while he lined up a shot.

"Enzo, are you actually smoking that?" he asked. Enzo frowned slightly.

"With...limited success. Eric insisted I partake." Eric laughed and smacked one of the balls smartly across the table, sinking one of the others into the corner pocket.

"Care for a game? I'm teaching this lumbering alien here some good old fashioned Earth customs. Like getting your ass kicked at a pool game," Eric offered. He stood, pulled hard on his cig and then realigned for another shot.

"I will have you know that I am marked quite high in my gracefulness on the battlefield, Eric. I am not, as you say, 'lumbering'...if I understand the phrase correctly," Enzo replied, his voice mostly firm but shot through with reluctance. Both men stared at the big Elite, then at each other, then began laughing.

"You've got it right, Enzo. This smartass is insulting you," Trent replied, walking deeper into the rec room. It was small, surely not the only one on the ship, as it was mostly taken up by the pool table with a peripheral of old-school arcade games and comfortable looking chairs orbiting around a bubble window for viewing.

"Aw, gimme a break. He's just too fun to mess with," Eric replied. He lined up another shot, smacked the ball again, though this time it missed.

"Let me guess...you're stripes, aren't you Enzo?" The Elite nodded unhappily, flicked some ash off the tip of the cigar and replaced it firmly in his mandibles.

"Indeed," he replied gravely. Trent chuckled and sat back for a moment, watching them go back and forth until Eric had cleaned up the table, sinking the eight ball in at the end.

"So, any idea what's up?" Trent asked, pulling out his pack of Yeheyuans. Eric held his hand out expectantly. Trent sighed, staring at it, then laughed and gave him one. He stuck one in his own mouth and flipped open the zippo, lit the tip of the cig. Eric stuck his head forward, puckering his lips, his own cigarette sticking out from his lips.

"Good _God_ you are needy," Trent muttered, then lit Eric's cig.

"Yeah, yeah. We're all needy in our own ways, DuPree. And no, I've no idea what's up." Trent shifted uneasily and Enzo glanced sharply at him, then at Eric.

"He knows?"

"Afraid so, friend. Don't worry, his secret's safe with me so you don't need to rip my arms off or anything." Enzo bristled.

"I would _never_-" Eric held up his hands.

"Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean it like that, I just...I saw some shit during the war I shouldn't have..." He trailed off, frowning, staring at nothing in particular.

"It's fine," Trent said finally, trying to bring the situation back into happy, or at least neutral, waters. Eric perked up, abruptly, and grinned.

"How's about another game, Enzo? I love the smell of failure in the morning." Enzo grinned, almost dislodging his cigar.

"Challenge accepted." Trent watched them set the game up, and decided to leave them to it. He had others to catch up on and they seemed content enough by themselves. He said his goodbyes, then slipped back out into the corridor. He wandered for several more minutes before happening upon another rec room, and another Survivor.

"Trent! Come here and join me, my new best friend!" Trent couldn't believe it. This rec room actually came equipped with a bar. It was self-serve and Cannioto was helping himself to a big, square bottle of vodka.

"Cann...how are you doing?" Trent asked, coming up and sitting at the bar next to the medic.

"I am doing well, my friend." He took a shot of the vodka. "Very well. Been dry for too long. Couldn't _believe_ they had this on an ONI ship. Let alone a goddamn Section Zero ship. You indulge?" Cannioto asked, tipping the bottle his way. Trent shook his head.

"Not now...maybe later." Cannioto shrugged and took another slug. "But I _was_ wondering, Cann...how'd you get into this whole thing?" Cannioto smiled and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Me? Oh...nothing too complicated. I've got a reputation. Surgery under fire, they say about me. Joined the Marines at eighteen...wanted to be a doctor from a young age. I got a...one-track kinda mind, you know? And I was smart enough. Test scores off the damned charts. They were desperate in the war, shoved me through Basic and I soaked up all that medicinal knowledge like a sponge...ever watched that old show, House?" Trent shook his head. Reading was more his thing.

"Ah, based around a fictional doctor, old Earth style, advent of the twenty-first century. Greg House was a smartass genius and he was my hero. Wanted to be just like him. I got some of that smartass beat out of me...what with the war and all. But, anyway...yeah. I sewed up guys all over the place. I got my start on a shitty little colony called Duma. Covenant hit that little colony hard, but they were fought off and I got shipped in with a batch of rooks...a trial by fire if there every was one. I saved a bunch of people, and grabbed a gun and kicked some Covie ass when they came back to try and retake the colony.

"And that was how it was, for a while. I just kept doing my thing for about ten years. I saw action Delta Halo, fought those ugly Flood bastards. Got back to Earth...then went right back out to the Ark. Came back...helped put Earth back together. I was taking a _well_ deserve vacation down in Miami when this guy shows up. ONI spook, big time. I'm sitting there on my private deck, sunning it up, when this guy just wanders out onto the deck and lays out in chair next to me. And, for like a minute, neither of us say anything.

"And I go...'So, who are you and why shouldn't I kick your ass?' He lights up a cigarette and says, 'Well, my name is Childs. And you shouldn't because A) you can't and B) I'm ONI.' So I laugh and light up one of my own and there's another moment of awkward silence. And, finally, I go, 'So, what do you want?' And he says, 'To offer you a job.' And I say, 'Already got a job.' And then he smiles, big, grinning around that cig and goes, 'Not like this.' And the rest? Well, it's history. Then I joined up and met you nice people."

Trent laughed. It sounded like something Childs would do. He stubbed out his Yeheyuan in a blocky titanium ashtray on the counter. Just in time, too. The overhead comms system clicked on. Childs' voice rolled out, asking all of the Survivors to report to airlock sixteen. Cannioto laughed and finished off the vodka.

"Thus spake Childs," he said, then laughed again, harder this time. Trent laughed too, he couldn't help it. That kind of laughter was infectious, and Cannioto seemed like the kind of guy who was always on the verge of laughter.

They left the rec room together.

* * *

><p>Airlock Sixteen was unimpressive. Trent, Cannioto, Blair, Melissa, Eric and Enzo had all gathered with Childs in a small, locker room style bay just beyond the airlock. Childs was consulting a datapad. Finally, he looked up at the others.<p>

"Now, I know you all have questions. Sorry I've been so...quiet, but things are up and, well...we needed a few more recruits. That's what we're doing here now. I wanted to do introductions, then a briefing." Childs looked suddenly at Enzo and smiled. "You're gonna love this, big guy." Enzo shifted uncomfortably under the man's gaze and unwavering grin. A moment of awkward silence passed, then was thankfully interrupted.

There was a loud clank of airlocks connecting. Several seconds passed in silence as the airlocks went through their cycles. The door opened to admit another pair of Survivors...at least Trent hoped so. They both, in their own way, threw him for a bit of a loop.

"Gentlemen, and lady, may I introduce Thomas Kent Nauls and Kiza 'Ralmak."

Nauls was young, very skinny and black. He had a shaved head with a bandana around his forehead, his eyes hidden behind slender, black sunglasses and a broad grin. He wore a technician's blue jumpsuit uniform and clutched a metal briefcase at his side. He seemed a little too goofy and young to be a Survivor.

Kiza was the first female Elite that Trent had seen in his life. In fact, up until that moment, he'd been half-convinced that there _were_ no female Elites. It was a topic he hadn't been able to comfortably broach with Enzo, and Enzo had never volunteered any information. Kiza was smaller than Enzo, shorter by almost half a foot. Which didn't meant that she still didn't tower over everyone else there at something like eight feet. Her skin was light blue, mostly hidden inside an Elite uniform without the armor.

She looked awkward and uncomfortable, merely nodding when her name was mentioned. But then her eye seemed to catch on something. Trent follower her gaze to Enzo, who was staring right back at her. Trent returned his gaze to Kiza, hiding a smile. Though now that he looked a little closer at her, the uniform she was wearing clung to her lithe body, he had to say that the difference between human females and Elite females wasn't enough that he couldn't enjoy what he was seeing. He blinked and cleared the thought from his mind.

Trent had had his fair share of sex lately. It was time for Enzo to enjoy himself. After Childs introduced each Survivor and their specialties in turn, he explained who Nauls and Kiza were. Nauls was, apparently, the foremost expert on Forerunner cryptography _and_ a Survivor, as luck would have it. Kiza, another Survivor, was an expert in all things stealth, scouting and sniping. She was also a calculated political move to try and ease vague tensions between the humans and the Elites, specifically with regards to the Survivor Initiative.

"Now that we all know each other, let's get to a briefing room and get this show started the proper way. We don't have much time."

They all followed Childs out of the airlock bay. Trent noticed Enzo and Kiza gravitate towards the back of the group. They navigated the ship, coming to a comfortable looking briefing room. The Survivors settled into their chairs while Childs dimmed the lights and assumed his position at the front of the table. A holographic image leaped into being when the lights reached their appropriate dimness. The scene depicted was one of space, a vast vessel in a perilously close orbit to a glowing, blue star against the dead backdrop of space.

"This is a Forerunner vessel we have codenamed the _Icarus_. We were originally going to have you take care of another situation on a desert planet but...this came up. We just received intel on this and it's got a time limit. The _Icarus_ is in a decaying orbit around Gamma Sigma, a recently discovered star. It's got little over a few days before it's gone. As I've said before, ONI, particularly the Black Ops, are looking for Forerunner artifacts.

"They've found something onboard the ship. Something important. A piece of data. That's as much as I know presently. The point is, I need you boys and girls to get onboard that ship. Extract the information and get out. Questions?"

"What kind of opposition are we up against?" Trent asked.

"Good question. We have no idea. But we've become at least vaguely familiar with the Forerunners...and we know that there's usually something horrible waiting on their ships or installations or their goddamned Halos...obviously, we'll run scans once we get in close, but we probably won't know for sure. This close to a star tends to interrupt scans. So I want everyone suited up and fully armed. Anymore questions?"

There were none. They knew the score.

"Good. Very good. Head for the armory, gear up. I'll feed you the relevant information as it comes in. We'll be in-system inside of an hour."


	53. Part VI: Derelict

**Chapter 53  
><strong>_-Derelict-_

They docked with the _Icarus_. Trent felt that old, familiar feeling of apprehension creeping up and down the length of his being. He was clad in his familiar ODST armor, blackened and without the insignia this time, since he was technically no longer an ODST. The removal of the insignia had been a problem, still kind of was, for him at least. He knew that, no matter the situation, he would _always_ be an ODST.

The scans had, not surprisingly, shown nothing other than the fact that the ship was there and it was still in a decaying orbit. They couldn't tell if there were things alive on the vessel or not. Not that it mattered to Trent. So far, there was nothing he'd come up against that he couldn't face down with his weapon. Well...except for that...that _thing_ they'd encountered deep underground, on the Ark. He shuddered at the thought of it.

The airlock let out a soft hiss. Everyone was wearing atmospherically sealed suits. The Forerunner airlock and the ONI airlock were incompatible, thus they could do little more than line up within a few feet and float across. The atmosphere was hastily evacuated from the bay. Trent was nervous. He hadn't spent hardly any time in a zero-g, zero-atmosphere environment. It was always a possibility, and the ODST suits were rigged to handle it, and he'd had training, but...it was just too easy for things to go wrong.

The doors opened, revealing the burnished, auburn metal of the Forerunner airlock ahead of them. Trent went first, using the jetpack they'd attached to his suit to guide himself in between the scant few feet between the ships. He swung the extended barrel of his SMG across the area, making absolutely sure they were clear. Once he could see nothing dangerous along the hull, he motioned for Nauls to come out.

The skinny cryptographer floated out and approached a light pad next to Forerunner airlock bay. He began to work at it. All around him, Trent could feel the immense weight of the nearby star. They were protected by _Icarus_ and Childs assured them that their ride would be waiting for them once they were done. But still, it was insane. Trent realized that there was something inherently terrifying about stars. It was something about their immeasurably vast power, the knowledge that they were one of the most powerful things in known, scientific reality.

Trent tried to keep his mind on the task at hand. He focused on Nauls. The young tech, hidden inside a slender suit of black armor, stopped working the light pad suddenly. The airlock opened up. Trent hovered in, gun ready. Once it was clear, he called for the others to join him. He'd selected his regular compliment of weapons, though he had kept the extended clip and laser scope for his SMG. The others crowded into the airlock and Nauls worked the controls, closing it.

The plan was simple: find a console, hack it, find out more about the ship. They'd been told that Nauls knew what he was doing, and knew what to look for. Which was fine for Trent...as long as the kid could stay alive. There might be nothing in there...then again, there might be a horde of Flood waiting for them. Or anything else the Forerunners had so wonderfully decided to create or experiment upon. The airlock finished its cycle. Trent and Enzo were up front, Enzo with his plasma sword out and ready.

The doors slid open.

A broad, metal corridor awaited their inspection, stretching away from them. It was empty, free and clear of any hostiles. Trent and Enzo led the way out, deeper into the corridor. The others followed, weapons free, ready for anything.

"Staccato, atmosphere?" Eric consulted a wrist-mounted sensory suite. After several seconds, there was a soft chime.

"It looks good. Earth-friendly. No toxins, no radiation, no pollutants."

"Alright everyone. Save your oxygen." There was a sudden but quiet rush of vents opening along the exterior of the suits. As the new atmosphere was introduced into his suit, Trent smelled it. He detected something, very faintly, that sent him on edge. He smelled again, deeper, but couldn't find it a second time. He decided it must've been his imagination. He was more than expecting and willing to believe something deadly was on this ship.

"There," Nauls murmured, indicating a doorway up ahead. Trent and Enzo moved up, coming to stand on either side of the broad doorway. Trent did a quick countdown. They both stepped in front of the door, weapons raised. It slid open, revealing a wide but low room. The walls seemed to glow from a path of gently turning light that ran along its surface, almost like a projector on a slow top. The floor was studded with odd pieces of what Trent guessed were Forerunner equipment. It all glistened and glowed.

Trent, Enzo and Blair entered the room and split up. Trent went along one direction of the wall, Enzo down the other, while Blair disappeared into the field of equipment. A few moments passed in eerie silence, broken only by a soft hum of air being filtered into the room. The trio eventually met back up at the entrance, convinced the room was empty.

"Come on, kid, do your thing," Trent said. Nauls and the others entered the room. Kiza and Blair remained at the door, guarding it, while Melissa, Cannioto and Eric began to wander among the equipment.

"This is all so...mesmerizing," Eric murmured, stopping and staring at one of the nodes. It hummed and pulsed with power.

"It usually is," Trent replied. Nauls approached a light pad hovering over the surface of a console against the far wall. He began working at this, his dexterous fingers punching a sequence of keys that lit up a display before him. Trent approached, stopping a few feet behind him and staring at the display. It appeared to be a holographic, overhead image of the ship. There was a confusing network of corridors and broad, vast rooms. That was one thing that always set him on edge about Forerunner architecture: it was too big.

A low, deep sound suddenly began to echo through the room. Everyone tensed, fingers tightening on triggers, checking the corners.

"What the _hell_ was that?" Eric snapped. The sound continued on, almost seeming to echo through the enormous complexity of the ship, before fading away into nothing. Everyone remained tense, listening, but the silence returned.

"Nauls, what have you got for us?" Trent asked.

"A map. What we're looking for is stored in a data vault across the ship." Blair frowned, stepping closer.

"If it's information...can't you just extract it from anywhere on the ship?" Nauls shook his head.

"No, it's locked down tight in the data vaults. I need to physically be there to access it."

"What about life signs?" Trent asked. Nauls shook his head.

"Can't tell, one way or the other. This internal database is pretty fried. This thing is ancient, and it looks like being so close to a sun has really taken a toll on it." Trent sighed.

"Alright, everyone gather round and memorize the route." The others clustered around the console and Nauls showed them the path from where they were to the data vault in question. It was a simple path, as several of the corridors ran the length of the entire ship. After everyone had committed it to memory, they stepped out of the room into the corridor. While they began making their way closer to one of the pathways that ran the length of the ship, Trent moved in closer to Nauls.

"So, what are we actually looking for? How much do you know?" Nauls shrugged.

"Not too much. Childs wasn't very loose with the information. All he said was that it was a location. Coordinates somewhere in the galaxy. Presumably a planet, maybe an installation or even another ship. Could be for an artifact or a wealth of knowledge. A weapon. I honestly don't know. We're learning a great deal about the Forerunners now that the Elites have cracked open their own databanks on the subject. Technology is getting better, star charts are improving, ships are getting faster, armor thicker, weapons more powerful...of course there's always the flip side to that."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning technology...isn't inherently good or evil. Technology is what people use it for. Humanity, and the Elites, are both in a weakened state. And it's fantastic that not only have we combined forces but we're putting Forerunner technology to use...but it would be easier than ever for someone or something to take us down. Someone who got some Forerunner super weapon in hand and held us all hostage, or if someone released the Flood again. They still exist in isolated vaults all over the galaxy."

"I've never understood that," Melissa said, drawing close. "Why, _why_ did the Forerunners keep the Flood locked up at _all_, when they knew how dangerous they were? With knowing how quickly they could spread and infected the entire goddamned galaxy?" Nauls frowned.

"Because...there is a certain kind of logic: that genocide is considered among the worst of all sins. That, no matter how evil or malignant the race, genocide should never be considered an option. And that the race in question, in this case the Flood, must continue to exist, even in a permanently frozen state." Blair snorted.

"Obviously the Prophets didn't share that distinction."

"I think-" Eric began, but was cut off as a soft chattering sound reached their ears. Everyone froze, Trent holding up his fist. They were approaching the end of the corridor, which resulted in a right turn into the broader, ship-length passageway. The sound was familiar and when Trent scented the air more carefully this time, he indeed smelled it.

"Aw _shit_," Eric whispered harshly. Trent went first, pressing his back to the wall and sliding closer and closer to the doorway. When he was right up on it, his gun raised, he peered cautiously around the corner. Standing there in the small alcove connecting the two corridors was a Flood, a Combat Form that had once been a man. Bits of black uniform and armor still clung to the deformed, decaying flesh.

Trent stepped around the corner and emptied half the clip into the thing's bulging chest. It let out a short, startled sound and then collapsed to the ground, most of its mottled flesh and toxic blood splashed across the previously clean walls. Trent waited, keeping the smoking barrel pointed towards the way yet gone, the unknown. But nothing came. He glanced back at the others, who were gathered apprehensively nearby.

"Looks like this ship isn't so derelict."


	54. Part VI: Hot Zone

**Chapter 54  
><strong>_-Hot Zone-_

"There! Shoot it! _Shoot it_!"

"No, there's another-shit, two more!"

"They're coming from the vents! Overhead!"

"Enzo, get that goddamned sword _out_ and do what you do best!"

Trent narrowly dodged a tight-knit cluster of tentacles meant for his head. He brought his SMG to bear and opened fire on the Combat Form hulking over him. He punched a gory hole through the thing's chest and kicked it away, knocking several others over in the process. He dodged a second tentacle bunch and prepared another burst before Enzo appeared in front of him and sliced cleanly through the Flood beast.

All around him, chaos boiled. Gunfire and explosions sounded through the haze of battle cries and the despairing howls of the formerly Human. The corridor they were in, though broad, tall and lengthy, was alive with dozens of Flood. They had come from everywhere, seemingly all at once, with no warning.

Trent sprayed the rest of his clip into a freshly advancing wave of Infection Forms, concentrating the last five bullets on a Carrier Form and felt a wave of decayed flesh and rotted blood spray across him as it popped and sent a dozen Combat Forms flying. He dropped his SMG, letting it hang by its sling and whipped out his pistol, putting holes into two more advancing Combat Forms. Behind him, he heard Blair working his shotgun.

Enzo shot ahead as Trent hurriedly reloaded both weapons. The Elite warrior was practically a blur as he sliced through the Combat Forms, his energy sword cutting through their flesh as though it weren't even there. Staccato bumped up next to him, sporting probably the most efficient gun for killing Flood: the battle rifle.

"Havin' fun, Temple!?" Staccato called as he targeted one Combat Form after another. Trent chuckled and slammed a fresh magazine home.

"You know it!" He opened up, popping a pair of Carrier Forms and spraying the area with a fresh wave of mottled gore.

"How many of these things are there!?" Cannioto roared from behind them. Trent felt another bump to his other side and spied Kiza, targeting Flood with a Covenant Carbine.

"Your friend is quite the warrior," she said, spying Enzo up ahead in the thick of a things as he worked on slaughtering a dozen Combat Forms.

"Bet your ass he is," Trent replied. He reloaded again, heard an explosion behind him and saw the charred remains of another corpse fly overhead.

"A curious phrase," Kiza said. Trent chuckled, then cried out in surprise as Enzo abruptly filled his vision and crashed into him. The lot of them were thrown around like ninepins, with Enzo acting as the bowling ball. The group of warriors were quickly reduced to a pile of groaning, tangled, thrashing limbs. Trent thought, as he lurched to his feet, that it was a miracle nobody had been cut by Enzo's blade.

"What the _hell_ was that!?" Melissa cried.

"Berserker!" Trent screamed as he regained his footing.

"Ber-_what_!?" Cannioto roared.

"Tank Form! It's a Tank Form, dammit!"

"Oh _great_!"

Trent watched in terror as the monstrous Flood form shoved its way through the remaining Combat Forms. It was huge, a true walking tank if there ever was one. Bulky, raw muscle rippled tightly against the bleached flesh.

"Shoot it!"

Everyone opened fire with their various weapons, striking the beast with an array of gunfire and plasma streams. It roared and began charging. Trent kept up the rate of fire, knowing they needed to take it down before it got to them or they were screwed. When his SMG ran dry, he hurled a pair of fragmentation grenades in quick succession and pulled his pistol back out, emptying the clip into the approaching beast.

"Crap! Crap! _Crap_!" Nauls cried as the thing came within swiping distance. There was a flare of plasma as Enzo reignited his blade and leaped forward, driving the tip of the blade into the thing's face.

The beast tripped, stumbled and crashed to the floor. The others hurriedly backed up as it and Enzo hit the ground and began rolling. In the end, Enzo slowly stood up and slashed out at one of the few remaining Combat Forms. Trent and the others killed them off quickly. A silence descended, but only briefly, broken by the clatter of spent magazines hitting the floor as everyone in the squad hurriedly reloaded.

"What the hell was _that_ all about?" Cannioto asked.

"Dunno, but let's get this over with. Come on. It's still mostly a straight shot," Trent replied. As the words left his mouth, they all heard the sound of something grinding shut. All eyes turned down the blood-soaked, body-strewn corridor, towards their destination. A massive door was slowly lowering from the ceiling, sealing them off.

"Shit!" Trent cried, running towards it. The others followed suit, hurrying down the passageway. Trent quickly realized he wasn't going to make it, let alone all of them, and slowed until he was standing still. He watched the door seal shut with a resounding _thud_. He turned towards their Forerunner expert.

"Nauls?"

"Get me to another console."

They slogged through the tide of bodies, finding a side passageway that led to another technologically inclined room. After clearing it, they let Nauls in. He hurried over to a terminal and began working at it. Only a few moments passed before he let out a growl of frustration.

"Whoever is in here...they've locked us out. All entrances into the center of the ship, where our data vault happens to be, are now locked..._from the inside_." He turned back to the controls.

"Can you get us through?"

"Working on it..." More silence passed. Finally, he let out a noise of joy. "Yes! Got it! Okay, there's an alternate security station we can use to force open one of the doors...it's not far from here. Here's the route."

The others gathered around and memorized the route, then hurried out of the room, back into the main corridor. As they began navigating their way deeper into the Forerunner ship, Trent let his SMG hang by its sling in favor of a battle rifle once wielded by a Combat Form.

"Hey, Temple...any idea who these guys might be? I mean, these Combat Forms are coming from _somewhere_," Cannioto said, nudging Trent as they walked.

"Not sure...the black armor remnants _look_ like ODST, but it could be any armor. They could be Insurrectionists maybe...rebels, you know? Or maybe they're from ONI. Maybe there's something Childs isn't telling us...or, hell, could be someone else entirely. Which reminds me...Nauls, can we get into contact with Childs?"

"No, afraid not. Interference is too strong...though I suppose I could try to run our frequency through the Forerunner's own comms system. Use them as a booster, but it might take a while." Trent shook his head.

"Forget it, we don't have the time. We'll just ask to one of the guys here...if any of them are left alive at this point." A loud groan sounded, echoing down the corridor from up ahead. Trent chuckled. "Speak of the devil..." he murmured.

"...and he shall appear," Staccato replied.

They came to a partially opened doorway, broken in some brutal conflict that had taken place. It was attempting, repeatedly, to close, but opened all the way as Trent approached it. He entered, weapon first, into the compact room beyond. It was the smallest chamber they had come across so far on the alien vessel. What was so interesting about it was Human technology had been integrated into the Forerunner systems.

A trio of corpses were scattered across the room, leaking blood and in very bad shape. Trent tried to determine which one was still alive, if any. One of them, in the far corner, shifted and groaned. He glanced over his shoulder at the others.

"Cover me." He approached the surviving soldier, studying him as he approached. The man was encased in smooth, black, featureless armor. There were no visible markings, and the visor was of a type he was unfamiliar with. It was a shade of deep blue and bulbous, almost like a fishbowl. Trent knelt by the man.

"Hey...who are you?" he asked, setting his battle rifle aside and reaching forward. The soldier tried to bat his hands away.

"Screw off," he groaned. "You've got no business being here." Trent easily overpowered him. The man's chestplate had been cracked and crushed in. Blood leaked steadily out of it. Trent undogged the latches on his helmet and pulled it off. A pale, sweat-soaked face stared up at him. The mystery man coughed and a spray of blood came out.

"Tell me who you are, now. I'm here on ONI authority." Trent grabbed him by the chestplate. "_Tell me_," he growled. The man opened his mouth to say something, then the light faded from his eyes and he went slack as he succumbed to his wounds. Trent sighed and let go, standing up.

"Fantastic...Nauls, get in here. Do your thing," he called, disgustedly stepping back into the corridor.

"Find anything?" Cannioto asked as Nauls slipped between them and hurried into the room. Trent shook his head.

"No, no idea who they are. But they're more than likely hostile. He wouldn't tell me anything, just told me we have no business being here." Cannioto rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, like _he_ does." They fell silent, listening to the disturbing sounds of the ship until Nauls returned several moments later.

"I've got it unlocked, but we'd better hurry. No telling how quick it'll be until they get it locked back down."

Trent led the way.


	55. Part VI: Extraction Point

**Chapter 55  
><strong>_-Extraction Point-_

"I don't like this..." Nauls murmured.

"Why?" Cannioto replied.

"It's too...you know, quiet. Bad shit happens when it gets too quiet in a warzone. Almost like the ship is like...saving up, or something. Like, it's pulling back and regrouping and saving something _real_ nasty for us."

"...what?"

"You don't think it makes sense? Come on."

"Will you both _shut up_?" Trent snapped. They'd been walking for five minutes now and hadn't come across a single living thing. There had been things that had once, very recently been alive. And things that were _almost_ alive. Trent knew exactly what Nauls was talking about. He'd experienced shit like this dozens of times before.

Something was up. But what? They had come across more and more corpses. There had to be several hundred of these dark armored men, and they were using UNSC standard weaponry. Who could they possibly be? Trent couldn't imagine a plausible scenario beyond someone had gathered up a hell of a lot of UNSC equipment, maybe from a break-in or abandoned armories, spray painted their armor and gone to work doing...whatever it was they were doing.

And the Flood...

This vessel was a plague ship now, completely infested. As far as Trent was concerned, it could fall into the sun. In fact, that's exactly what he planned on letting happen. There was no way anyone was getting their hands on any of these Flood.

"Hey...there's an opening up ahead," Blair whispered. He was leading along with Trent, the others strung out behind them. They were currently making their way down a squat, flickering corridor. The flickering was beginning to get to Trent, both in annoying him and in worrying him. You never wanted to see flickering lights on a space ship.

"Alright...get ready everyone," Trent growled. They had heard the sounds of conflict for quite a while, distant gunshots and echoing screams. But even those had died away now, leaving them bathed in eerie silence. The group came out into a broad, open room. The immediate area was bathed in blood, but there were no bodies. Spent shell casings littered the metallic ground and there was a cloying mist that saturated everything, limiting visibility.

"We have to get through here, to the other side. That's where the data bank we want is," Nauls whispered. Trent nodded.

"Blair, Enzo, Cannioto, move up," he murmured. The three warriors broke away from the group, spreading out slightly as they moved deeper into the dark, misty room. The floor was littered with more man-sized nodes of glistening technology. Trent kept watching the edges of his peripheral for dark, blurry shapes in the mist.

He became aware of a loud pounding noise. It was getting louder.

"What the hell is that?" Nauls whispered, terror staining his voice. Trent thought it sounded familiar, and fear began to infect him.

"Blair-" A hook on the end of a tentacle shot out of the mist so fast that nobody had any time to react as it punched straight through Blair's armored chest and exploded out his back in a flurry of blood and gore. A second tentacle flew towards Trent and he screamed as he dodged it.

"Not this beast again!" Enzo cried, igniting his plasma blade. A hail of gunfire shot towards the towering Flood Juggernaut that stepped out of the mist. A familiar terror ignited in Trent as he regained his composure, raising the battle rifle and firing off three-round bursts into the broad mass of armored green flesh. It raised both tentacled arms, waiving Blair around like a bloody flag as it prepared to strike again.

"Distract it!" Enzo called, disappearing into the mist.

"Oh, fan_tastic_!" Trent snapped, throwing himself to the side once more as a hook shot towards him, denting the metal where he'd previously been standing. Gunfire continued to roar as the others got into the fray. They began spreading out, narrowly dodging the tentacles as they came smashing down. Trent attempted vainly to keep track of the others amidst the fury of activity. He heard metal scrape and he was thrown off balance as a tentacle came extremely close to ending his life, cutting a shallow but nearly lethal grove into his bicep armor.

Trent focused on himself. The others could take care of themselves, he needed to stay alive. He regained his balance, but nearly tripped over something again. He almost ignored it, but the basic shape of the dark object lying on the floor caught his eye. A malign, battle-insane grin blossomed on his face. Trent knelt and slung his battle rifle, then snatched up the rocker launcher. It was a newer model, double-barreled.

Checking to see it was loaded and grinning broader when he became certain it was, Trent leveled the launcher at the towering beast before him. It was mostly distracted with the others. Locking on, he let the titan have it and fired both barrels simultaneously.

"Fire in the hole!" he screamed. Everyone's head, including that of the Flood, shot over in his direction. The twin rockets shrieked from their dark nests and crossed the distance between Trent and the Juggernaut in the blink of an eye. Twin explosions blossomed, lighting the immediate area in a hellish glare.

Trent abandoned the launcher, unable to locate anymore rockets, and brought his rifle to bear. The others were hidden now behind the Forerunner nodes, watching guardedly. As the smoke began to clear, Trent caught sight of a massive form lying on the ground. It was still writhing around, twitching spasmodically.

He began to advance cautiously on it, preparing to try and finish the job, when Enzo abruptly leaped from the mists and landed on its chest. The enormous warrior plunged his blade into the Juggernaut's chest again and again. A high pitched shrieking rang out, forcing Trent to wince and flinch back. Eventually, the godforsaken noise died away and the Juggernaut was still. Enzo hopped down lithely off of its corpse.

"Shall we go?" Trent laughed loudly, smacking him on his armored back.

"Yes, Enzo. Let's go."

* * *

><p>The way to Nauls's data bank was hard fought.<p>

The squad of Survivors killed their way through a network of tight and narrow corridors. They they left dozens of corpses in their wake, spraying the walls with decayed blood and rotted flesh, littering the floor with spent shell casings.

"Wait!" Nauls called, struggling to be heard over the gunfire. "This is it!" Trent turned away briefly from staring down the length of his barrel, through digital sights at monstrous things. He looked over his shoulder at Nauls.

"Melissa, Enzo, go with him! Clear the room! Protect him!" Trent called. The pair sounded off in response and disappeared into the data vault with Nauls. He eyed the others. They were holding up pretty well, given the situation. Cannioto and Staccato were covering the rear, each firing off three-round bursts over and over into a wave of advancing Combat Forms and Carriers. Kiza was shoulder-to-shoulder with Trent, well, almost, as she was over a foot taller than him, and holding her own. She fired off round after round from a Covenant Carbine with a lethal precision into the exposed chests of the Combat Forms.

Time began to pass uncomfortably as Nauls, hopefully, was doing his thing. Trent reloaded his battle rifle with its last clip. He knew they couldn't keep this up forever. He'd lost his silenced SMG somewhere along the way and hadn't had a chance to find a replacement. All he had besides the rifle was a pistol that was also low on ammo. He'd tossed all his grenades. As he finished slamming the magazine home, Trent snapped his gun up.

But he slowly lowered it as he realized Kiza had downed the last Combat Form on his end. He turned around, ready to fight off a wave of attackers from the opposite side, but saw that Cann and Staccato had cleaned up.

"Guess we got 'em all," Staccato murmured, reloading his own piece.

"Hopefully that's the majority of them...I mean, the Flood need hosts and how many of these guys could have been onboard?" Cann replied. Trent shrugged.

"Not sure...don't know how we could've missed that many. I mean, we must've killed two hundred of these things so far..."

"They may have a device onboard meant for blocking sensors," Kiza suggested.

"Yeah, it's entirely possible...I wonder why they were even here." Nauls and the others abruptly emerged from their data bank. Nauls was smiling.

"I've got the data, and I managed to get into contact with Childs. I had him reposition the ship closer to us. Another airlock. It's not far from here. And, I've reset the engines to increase the orbital decay. There's no way anyone can recover this ship now and let the Flood loose again," he explained.

"Hell _yes_, lead the way," Trent replied.

They began hurrying down the passageway, straining their ears against the sounds of the ship, listening for the Flood or any surviving mystery men in dark armor. But as they hurried down brightly-lit, alien corridors, they went unchallenged. Trent took point with Enzo, the pair of them being led by Nauls's instructions. They navigated as quickly as they could, feeling the pressure of time as the Forerunner vessel was swallowed by the star. They leaped over corpses, avoided slick pools of blood and before long arrived at the airlock.

"Lock your suits!" Trent called as he opened the airlock. He quickly activated the seal function on his suit, atmospherically sealing it. Once he confirmed that all the others had done the same, he had them file into the airlock. As soon as the last person was in, Trent hit the cycle button. He began to hear Childs's voice rising from the static.

_"__...an you hear me?...zzt...eat, can you hear me?"_

"You've got us, Childs. We're at the airlock, cycling through now."

_"__We're right on the...zzt...er side. Hurry it up!"_

The cycle completed and the outer door opened the cold depths of space. Trent went first, flying across the short gap between the vessels. The others joined him quickly. He could feel the immense pressure of the star around him. Trent stopped at the adjoining airlock and opened it up, then motioned for the others to get inside. Once the last one, Kiza, was in, he joined them and closed the airlock. The speedship began moving before the cycle had even completed.

As soon as the cycle was complete, he stepped out into the bay beyond and sat down heavily on a bench. The adrenaline was seeping from his system and he was exhausted. The job was done, and that was enough for him.

* * *

><p>"Trent?"<p>

Trent glanced up from the pool table, a Yeheyuan stuck in his mouth. Enzo was on the other side, leaning gently on his own too small pool cue, waiting for Trent to take his shot. They were alone in the lounge. Childs had debriefed them and officially welcomed them into the fold as Survivors, then left them to their own devices while the speedship escaped the system, off to some other unknown location.

Trent had showered with Melissa and they'd made love afterward. Insomnia had come for him once more, gripping him relentlessly. He was beginning to suspect that it was an echo of his old life, of his own insanity. Driven from his bed, he'd dressed and roamed the corridors until he found Enzo, alone in the rec room, peering out into the inky blackness of slipspace.

"Hey, Melissa. Sorry I left you alone...couldn't sleep. Figured I'd be back before you got up. What's up?" Melissa had a strange look on her face. It was oddly familiar to Trent, and he took an immediate dislike to it.

"Can we...talk? Alone?" she asked, darting a quick glance at Enzo. The big Elite peered over at Trent, who, after a moment, reluctantly nodded.

"I'll prepare the alcohol," Enzo said, then left the room. Trent frowned, staring at the Elite's broad, departing back. Alcohol for what? Once the door was closed, Melissa came to stand at the opposite end of the table. She kept chewing on her lip, not quite meeting his eyes, drumming her fingers on the edge of the pool table.

"What, Melissa?" Trent asked, more pointedly now. He did _not_ like where this was going. Sighing, Melissa finally met his eyes.

"I've been talking with Childs...he's going to give me an assignment in the Koss System...there's an anomaly on one of the planets...they think they might have dug up something Forerunner...he's giving me a team to command." Trent shifted uncomfortably.

"Okay...and..."

"And...it's not where you're going."

"...how do you know?"

"Because I asked him to give me an assignment apart from you." Silence began to fill the room like a noxious gas.

"Why would you do that?" Trent managed finally.

"Because...I'm sorry, Trent. I really am. It's just...I can't do the serious thing. I just can't. I...have too much bad history. And I like my independence. Especially now that I'm a Survivor. I just...want to be calling the shots in my own life now. It's been a while since I've been able to really do that, in between missions..."

"I'm not even sure where to begin," Trent replied after a moment. "I mean...do you actually think I'd tie you down that much? Do you think I'm stupid? That I'm incapable somehow?"

"No! No, it's not like that! I just...I'm not capable of being in a serious relationship. It...it wouldn't be fair to you, Trent. You're obviously very smart, very kind. You're in fantastic shape, you're amazing in bed and you're one hell of a soldier. And that's why you deserve someone better than me. So...I just want to kill it now, before it grows anymore." Trent was silent for a long time, feeling a variety of emotions welling up within him.

He was silent so long that Melissa seemed to decide he wasn't going to say anything, and she turned and began to leave.

Finally, he spoke.

"You know, you picked a real_ shit_ time for this," he snapped. Melissa whirled around, startled. She opened her mouth but her cut her off. "I just got dumped by the first real girlfriend I've had in five years, right when I _really_ needed her. Right after I finally got over the fact that my fiancee cheated on me with my best friend when I was nineteen. And I was feeling lower than low, and I thought we could really do something together...but whatever. I guess it doesn't matter, just go."

Trent's eyes were burning. He blinked and rubbed at them, and was honestly surprised to find that he was crying. Melissa was frozen where she stood, staring wide-eyed and bewildered at him. He could tell she didn't expect any of this.

"Trent...I'm so sorry," she whispered. And maybe it was a sign of his cured insanity, or maybe it was just a sign that he was getting more mature, but in a way that made him feel much older than his twenty four years, a part of him recognized that she may be right. Maybe she wasn't capable of providing a real relationship. What if she cheated on him? Or grew cold towards him? How much more would that hurt, several months down the line?

Maybe this really was the best option.

"I forgive you, Melissa. But please...just go," Trent said, wiping at his eyes some more. She opened her mouth to speak again, but she nodded and turned and left. Trent watched her go, then stared at the door after it had closed for several moments. Finally, he remembered he was still holding onto his pool cue. Somehow, he'd held onto it through the whole thing. Trent chuckled, briefly, then tried to line up a shot.

He hit the ball and missed his mark, badly. Sighing, he suddenly remembered that Enzo was somewhere nearby, with alcohol. He dropped the pool cue on the floor and left the rec room. For a moment, Trent was afraid of running into Melissa out in the corridor, but she was gone. He was alone in the cold hallway. He headed for the secondary lounge, the one with the bar he'd hung out with Cannioto in not too long ago.

He found Enzo there, sitting alone at the bar with a big bottle of vodka next to him. There was a glass set up in front of the seat next to him and a long-necked, specialized bottle sat in front of him. Trent slowly walked up and took a seat. His glass was full. He grabbed it and downed it in one go, then set it down and poured another.

He'd made it through three more before Enzo spoke. The big Elite was feeding vodka into his mouth via the long-necked bottle, fitting the end of it into what Trent had come to call his throat-hole. Elites had no real cheeks or practically any mouth to speak of, at least not in any human sense. Instead, they had to directly intake food or liquid via the opening in their neck, buried at the base of their mandibles. Trent had watched Enzo do this dozens of times and was always impressed. Enzo made what seemed to be a complicated procedure look smooth and fluid each time. He supposed it made sense, though, since Enzo had been doing it for decades.

"So, was the news bad?" Trent heaved a weary sigh.

"I'm afraid so. She broke up with me." Enzo was quiet for a long time. Trent began to get a similar feeling from him that he had from Melissa, that he had bad news.

"Got something to tell me, Enzo?" Enzo clicked his mandibles together.

"You Humans...especially you, my friend, are well attuned to our psychology, it seems." Trent chuckled.

"Yeah, yeah...what is it? You leaving me, too?"

"...for a time. I...the Elite Hierarchy is attempting to initiate their own Survivor Initiative. But they need help, from Elites who have been through the process. The logic feels flimsy but...I feel it would be in the best political interests of both our species if Kiza and I spent some time with our own people and helped out."

"You and Kiza, huh? How's that going, anyway?"

"I..." Enzo hesitated. Trent took a heavy drink and lit up a new Yeheyuan. He waved Enzo's reluctance away.

"Don't let my recent relationship explosion cramp your style, man. Just tell me."

"Very well, then. Kiza propositioned me after the mission. We have mated." Trent stared at him for a long moment, then burst out laughing, nearly dropping his cig.

"What?" Enzo asked, uncertain.

"It's just...oh man...I've never heard it put so...stoically. So clinically. It's like you were..." he burst out laughing again, wiped some tears from his eyes. "...like you were delivering a goddamn after-action report or something!" Enzo let out a small chuckle, then, as Trent dissolved into laughter once more, began laughing harder. Finally, as the laughter died down, Trent reach over and patted Enzo on his massive shoulder.

"Well, good for you man. It's been too long since you've had a girl. In fact...I've _never_ seen you with a girl."

"I...have been very busy."

"Yeah, you and me both, brother. Well, listen, you go do your thing with Kiza and the Elites. I'm sure we'll get back together eventually. Maybe I'll have another girlfriend by then but...damn, I'm feeling like not being with _anyone_ for a little while. Shit, man, I can't keep doing this. I'm kinda glad now that I remained single for those five years..." Trent trailed off, staring into his mostly-empty glass. He took a pull off his cig and blew a smoke ring.

Behind them, the door opened. Childs stepped in. He walked up to the bar and sat down, grabbing Trent's drink and draining it.

"Trent, I've got a job for you." Trent laughed.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah...in fact, I've got jobs for you all."

"I've already heard about Melissa and Enzo and Kiza. Where's the others going?"

"Oh, around...no offense, but we figure the less you know about other Survivors the better. You know?"

"Yeah, yeah...I know. I get it. So, what utterly insane, unreasonable, ridiculous thing do you want me to do next, huh?"

Childs smiled.


	56. Part VII: Welcome To Outpost 31

_**Part VII: Machete & A Hockey Mask**_

**Chapter 56  
><strong>_-Welcome To Outpost 31-_

"This is Jason Voorhees."

Trent stared up at the screen before him. An intimidating monster of a man stood against the background of a misty forest. Childs had taken him to a briefing room after their drink in the bar and sat him down.

"This photo was taken about a year ago at a little place called Crystal Lake...heavy with urban legends, missing people, the occasional mutilated corpse turning up...for approximately the past five hundred and seventy years, this man has haunted Crystal Lake." Trent held up his hand. Childs paused, as though he had expected this, and inclined his head.

"Okay...what? Over five hundred years? How is that even _remotely_ possible? If you know about this guy, then obviously the military and government know about him...haven't they done anything about him?"

"Those are all good questions, Trent. There have been dozens, _hundreds_, of attempts by local law enforcement, the Marines, the Army, the Navy, Spec Ops, Black Ops and, most recently, ONI, to apprehend or kill Jason Voorhees. _All_ have failed. He went unnoticed for decades at a time as he faded from memory or whoever was going after him finally decided to give up or died. As for how he's able to survive so many attempts on his life that would have otherwise been successful...that's a very good question. We don't know."

"Alright, so...am I going after him? Am I to succeed where so many others have failed? That's basically in my job description," Trent replied. Childs rolled his eyes.

"Don't me such a smartass, Trent. We captured him nine months ago. Black Ops did, actually. They turned him over to us. Apparently they had bigger fish to fry...which begs a lot of questions about what they've been doing out there, in the darkness..." Childs fell silent, his eyes becoming unfocused. Trent frowned and shifted, leaning forward. He got the feeling this wasn't something Childs had meant to allude to. Abruptly, the ONI commander came back to himself.

"Anyway, we kept him on ice basically as soon as we got him. We found that that _does_ contain him. We kept him there through the end of the war, and only just recently did the bureaucrats decide what to do with him. His cryo-unit was moved to a top-secret security vessel a week ago. Five hours ago, the ship suffered catastrophic failure. You can read the report on your way to the drop zone. Basically, Jason escaped and they crashed on a backwater moon called Thule near a little communications outpost at the edge of a forest.

"Your mission is to recapture Jason Voorhees. They found a special blend of toxin that can incapacitate Jason for long periods of time. We're going to arrive there about two days ahead of another security ship. You need to apprehend and sedate him until it arrives."

"And you're going to give me another cryo-unit, right?" Childs shifted uncomfortably.

"We don't have one onboard...and by the time we could get one to the site, the security ship already would have arrived so...no." Trent sighed heavily. He returned his attention to the picture of the lethal killing machine being displayed. Childs kept talking. "I'll give you a complete history of him, everything we have on the guy, as well as a compliment of guns loaded up with the tranq darts: shotguns, SMGs, pistols...your choice."

Trent just nodded, still staring at the screen.

"Trent...are you alright? I understand you were...intimate, with Melissa. And...well, she asked me to be away from you. And...I've had to assign all the others on separate assignments. After your...incident, with your psychosis...I was just wondering..."

"If I'm cracking up again? Don't sweat it, Childs. I'm doing alright. I just...need some time to clear my head. Stop seeing women for a while, maybe. I'm beginning to suspect they're a lot more trouble then they're worth." Childs laughed bitterly.

"Learn that lesson as soon as you can, son. I'm forty seven, been married three times...never get married. Understand me?"

"Is that an order?"

"Might as well be."

* * *

><p>Trent spent the ride down to the moon looking over Jason Voorhees' profile. There was a lot to read. Mostly it was just statistics and sightings. He had an absurdly impressive body count, numbering over three thousand. The majority of reported sightings had him at Crystal Lake, but there were additional reports of him all over North America. Even more impressive, and absolutely ridiculous, were the listed ways of attempted murder.<p>

This guy had been pumped full of more lead than the entire Covenant collective. He'd been set on fire, electrocuted, hung, _decapitated_, blown up, frozen, exposed to all kinds of toxins and radiation, dismembered...the list went on and on. Trent wasn't sure there was much left he could do to Jason Voorhees that hadn't been done already. Luckily, they didn't want him killed. Just captured. Trent laughed at the thought.

No one knew how Jason had become this way. The history part of the file was very slim. Official reports put his birth date at June 13th, 1946. That would put him at...Trent let out a long whistle after he did a bit of quick mental math. Just over six hundred years old. _That_ was impressive. Apparently he was born deformed with mental disabilities, and when he was eleven, he'd drowned in Crystal Lake. From there it got confused.

According to the file, his mother had lost it and blamed the teenage idiots running the camp. She'd brutally murdered almost all of them, but had been killed in the process. Then, in the early 1980s...Jason had somehow come back. Speculation was that he had in fact survived the drowning, or the drowning itself might have been a hallucination of his mother. Either way, the camp around Crystal Lake was abandoned and Jason presumably raised himself there.

From there it got _really _confusing. Trent tried to sort through the massive list of survivor testimonies, several of which involved Jason being shocked, which appeared to resuscitate him. He couldn't actually tell if Jason was invincible and had survived all his encounters...or had been brought back to life by a series of ridiculous events. He much preferred the second option, as it meant Jason _could _be killed.

Trent sighed and set the datapad aside as it became clear they were almost at the outpost, which was where he'd be staying.

He was already missing the Flood and the Covenant.

* * *

><p>"Hey there, friend-o. Welcome to Outpost Thirty One." Trent stared at the man that waited for him at the edge of the cargo ramp. He was a little husky, and Trent couldn't tell if it was fat or muscle. More than likely some combination of the two. He sported a big beard and sunglasses, as well as a bottle of J&amp;B Rare Scotch.<p>

"Hey, man...MacReady, right?" Trent replied. He'd glanced briefly over the roster of Outpost 31 on the way over. The man smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, that's right. You must be ONI Spook."

"I guess that sums it up...real name's Trent. Trent Temple." Trent walked down the ramp and offered his hand. MacReady took it and pumped it without hesitating.

"Glad to have you..." he glanced behind Trent at the small pile of crates and weapons briefcases. "Need some help?"

"Love some." MacReady turned and stared into the open garage where a small cluster of men had gathered. He whistled sharply.

"Pace! Clarke! Get out here!" he called. A pair of men hustled out of the garage and came to stand with them. "Get in there, unload those crates. Where you want 'em?" MacReady asked, returning his attention to Trent.

"Garage is fine," Trent replied. He pulled out a small device resembling a datapad, but with a bigger screen, and stared at it. It chirped softly, periodically. He stared at the screen for a moment, frowning, then scanned the area beyond the landing pad they were on. He looked back down at the screen, then nodded.

"What's that?" MacReady asked.

"This? I will tell you very soon. I was wondering if I could meet the team first, maybe see the base and get settled in," Trent replied, lifting the small briefcase he was holding his left hand. It contained just a few changes of clothes and a few personal items he'd carried out of his old life. Things he'd go nowhere without.

"Yeah, sure. Come on." MacReady led Trent into the garage, where, from a quick headcount, he realized everyone in the base had gathered. As soon as Pace and Clarke had finished unloading the ship, the ramp closed and it took off. Childs' speedship was in orbit, waiting with backup...just in case. Otherwise, Trent and the men down here were on their own.

"Allow me, everyone, to introduce our very own ONI Spook...Trent Temple. Now, I'm MacReady. Call me Mac, everyone else does. I'm base commander..." MacReady introduced the rest of the crew.

Pace was a tall, stocky, sunburned man who looked like he belonged outdoors. He was in charge of security at the base. True to his apparent nature, he maintained a decent garden on the side of the base in his free time. Of which there was much. Clarke, a lanky man with a scruffy beard, a shaved head and some ink, was the resident chef. Windows was a grinning, bushy-haired communications tech that liked to grow weed in the garden. He was probably the most important person at the base, as he maintained all the comms equipment.

Norris was a scrawny, hesitant man that doubled as the base mechanic and back up comms tech. He fidgeted a lot and had big, blue, moist eyes. Parnevik was the base medic. He appeared dark and brooding, preferring to hang back in the far corner of the garage, arms crossed tightly across his chest. The scowl on his face seemed etched into it with acid. Finally there was Lavelle, tall and skinny, he wore a black beanie and a tank-top. He was too busy fiddling with something technical at one of the tables. Technically speaking, he was the outpost's secondary medic, but, truth be told, he was more of a jack-of-all-trades.

"Now, next on the list...the grand tour," MacReady said.

"Don't open any of those yet. I mean it," Trent said before heading out of the garage, indicating the crates. A few of the men grumbled in response. MacReady led him through the base. It was all pretty standard, but looked well lived-in: a messhall, a rec room, an infirmary, a few storage rooms and the comms shack.

Finally, they came to living quarters.

"Lucky we got a spare. Base is understaffed, and looking to stay that way once they figured out how good we were at running the place. Technically it's supposed to be a full ten," MacReady explained. Trent nodded as he looked around the bedroom. It was a definite downgrade from his quarters aboard the speedship, but he didn't care.

"Alright...have the men gather in the garage. They'll like what's in the crates, at least, I hope so. I'll be out there in five minutes," Trent said, still staring into the bedroom. MacReady hesitated, then nodded.

"You got it." He disappeared down the corridor. Trent entered the room, closed the door and locked it. He set the modified datapad on the desk, stared at it for a moment, then turned his attention to the briefcase. He set it on the desk as well, propped it open, peered in at the contents. There, among the neatly folded uniforms, were his belongings.

The only belongings he cared about anymore. He picked them up and stared at each for several seconds before putting them aside. First was the picture of Lindsay. He didn't know how to feel about her anymore. In his own way, he still loved her...even with the revelation of her adultery. It hurt to look at her picture, and Trent was considering burning it. Next was his lighter. The black square of metal with a stylized logo of a flaming skull. A testament to his insanity, and well...a damned good lighter. He reached into his pocket and fished out a Yeheyuan from the pack there, lit it up, then set the lighter aside as well.

All that was left was one more thing. Three items...three items he had to his name. A single bullet, meant for an M6D. He stared at the bullet for a long, long time. He flashed back to a night, years ago...the night after his first battle. Right after he'd gotten through Basic, got shipped off to some nowhere planet to help reclaim it from the Covenant. That first battle had been hard, and bloody...and brutal.

He'd had a dozen near-death experiences. When it was all said and done, they'd been forced to run and retreat. Trent, his name Jason DuPree then, had sat, alone in the bathroom with a pistol in his hand. He'd been contemplating suicide. It was at a crucial time when he wasn't sure if he'd be able to stand the horrors of war. The blood, the death, the outright slaughter...in the end, he'd taken the bullet out of the chamber and pocketed it.

He'd held onto that bullet ever since, promising himself that suicide would always be there as an option, if he really needed it. Trent carefully set the bullet back in the briefcase...the picture, too. He pocketed the Zippo, then closed and locked the briefcase and left the room.


	57. Part VII: Night Call

**Chapter 57  
><strong>_-Night Call-_

They had gathered in the garage, as he had asked. By the time he reached the garage, MacReady and the others, he'd gotten himself back under control. The memories of his suicidal urges were swept back into the darkness, where they belonged.

"So...what's the story?" MacReady asked as Trent walked in.

"I'll level with you, gentlemen. A security ship carrying an indestructible killing machine has crash-landed near your base," Trent began. Pace raised his hand. Trent nodded to him.

"Indestructible, like...like, you mean, a robot? Is this some kinda experiment gone wrong?" Trent shook his head.

"I'm afraid it's not so simple...the short of it is that somehow, someway, a man back in the nineteen hundreds...found a way to be immortal. Basically. Luckily for us, he only seemed to want to stick to one little lake, back on Earth. Unluckily for us...he kills everything he sees. His name is Jason Voorhees." Clarke raised his hand.

"So what's your job, then?"

"Glad you asked," Trent replied, marching over to the small pile of crates he'd had them unload. The others got up from their varied seating arrangements and joined him. Before popping open the first one, Trent checked the modified datapad for several seconds, then nodded once to himself and put it away.

"My job, gentlemen, and by extension, _your_ job, is to re-capture him. Another security ship is coming here soon." Trent pulled out a snub-nosed, double-barreled shotgun and passed it to MacReady, who took it, cracked it open and stared down the barrels.

"You said he's unstoppable...what's this loaded up with?"

"Eggheads at ONI managed to find the right concoction of toxins to knock the bastard out cold for a good amount of time. So far as they can tell, he hasn't built up much, if any, resistance to it yet. We're gonna hunt him, tranq him, tie him up and hold onto him." Trent began passing out guns: pistols, long-barreled rifles, assault rifles.

"What kind of resistance can we expect?" Parnevik asked quietly.

"From the report I read, he's fast, he's stronger than hell and he can sneak up on you like a cloaked Elite. He's got a machete, a blade." The men continued to inspect the weapons and the tranq darts. Trent left them to it, popping open another crate and peering within. His armor. It was all packed away, nice and neat, black and shiny.

"You a Helljumper?" Trent did his best to hide how startled he was. He hadn't heard MacReady come up behind him.

"Something like that." MacReady chuckled.

"Used to be Navy, myself. Longsword pilot...saw a lotta shit during the war. If you're here long enough, I might tell you about it. Hell, maybe over dinner tonight."

"That'd be good. Say...who's your resident pothead?"

"We all dabble a little bit, well, except for Parnevik. But that'd be Windows. I'm sure you could talk him into giving you a jay or two, if you smoked them with him. He doesn't mind sharing, so long as he has someone to smoke with. Dinner's usually around six. Show up hungry, Clarke makes some _really_ good food." MacReady patted him on the back and moved to rejoin the others, who looked as though they were preparing to disperse.

Trent closed the crate with his armor for the moment and turned to track down Windows.

* * *

><p>"This, my new best friend, is the good shit." Windows passed the freshly lit roll of paper to Trent, who took it and stuck it in his mouth. He pulled hard on it, held it, then blew a long, slow cloud of smoke. Halfway through, he began coughing and it all came out in a haze. Windows started laughing. He lit up his own joint and took a hit.<p>

"Good?" he asked. Trent nodded, the coughing dying down.

"Very good. Yeah. Thanks, man. Thanks a lot. I really needed this. Been going through a lotta shit lately," Trent replied. He took another hit. "Just lost my girlfriend...life's been all chaos lately. And now here I am hunting an unstoppable serial killer." Windows laughed and nudged him.

"But at least you've got some weed, man. And..." Windows leaned forward, hit a button on the keyboard in front of him. "...good tunes!"

_"__Slacker...a person who shirks his work or duty...a person who evades military service in wartime..."_

"What's this?" Trent asked. "It sounds...really cool."

"Old, old, _old_ school music, man. Guy called himself Tech N9ne. Song's called Slacker. He was one of the best, man...a Beethoven of his time. You stick around long enough, I'll show you some more."

_"__I'mma slacker...never did I have lotta dough...I'mma slacker...smokin' pot and watchin' videos..."_

Trent laughed and blew another cloud of blue smoke.

* * *

><p>MacReady wasn't lying. Dinner was amazing. Clarke managed to put together a Mexican meal the likes of which Trent had never witnessed. Burritos, tacos, enchiladas. He made everything himself. With how efficiently they ran the base, the team could afford to be a little extravagant with their budget.<p>

"What _is_ this, Clarke?" Trent asked, already halfway into his second massive burrito. Clarke laughed happily.

"I call it Taco Chili, my friend. You throw some tomatoes, some black beans and some corn into a big slow-cooker, then fry up some meat and throw that in there with some taco seasoning, stir it up and let it sit for a few hours...and there you go! Simple as hell and great stuff."

"It's _amazing_!" The men laughed and someone clapped Trent on the back.

"No more of that processed shit while you're here, friend-o," MacReady said. "Got any crazy stories...being an ONI spook, and all? Or would you have to kill us if you told us?" Trent laughed.

"I've got a few...I was on the Ark. Got pegged with an assassination job or three. Prophets." Pace let out a low, appreciative whistle.

"No small task."

"Indeed. I did it, though...lost a lotta good men, doing it. Almost died myself. Last long-necked bastard gutted me with an energy knife. Ruptured my kidney. It was damn good luck I happened to get to a surgical bay in time." Trent took another bite and then began to expand on the story. As he did, he realized that, for the first time in a long time, he was relaxed.

He was happy.

* * *

><p>Trent awoke from a nightmare. In it, he was back with Veronica, happily lying in bed with her, lounging beneath the sheets, soaked in sweat, talking about their day. He gasped awake into darkness to an unpleasant sound. After a few seconds of staring up at the ceiling in a cold sweat, confused memories and painful emotions swirling in his head like a typhoon, Trent finally realized what it was he was listening to.<p>

He snapped straight up, reached over and grabbed the modified datapad. Its normally soft, periodic blips had now turned to a sharper, faster chiming. He rubbed sleep from his eyes, scanned the digital clock. It was three in the morning. The modified datapad, which tracked the implant they'd put into Jason, put the killer at somewhere inside the base perimeter. Trent swallowed. How could he have slept through that? He shot to his feet.

No time for armor, but he'd gone to bed with an SMG, modified to take those specialized tranq darts. He imagined all the men had. Trent grabbed the gun and slipped quickly and quietly out of his bedroom. He hammered on MacReady's door for a moment before the man appeared, hair wild, eyes bleary.

"What?" he asked, he sounded perfectly awake.

"Jason's here, in the base." MacReady nodded once, tightly, and disappeared back into his blackened room, lit only by the blue light of the stars and the planet overhead. He reappeared with the double-barreled snub-nose and stepped out in the corridor.

"Where is he, exactly?" MacReady asked, rousing the others. Some of them were still awake, elsewhere in the base.

"Not sure...this thing isn't too specific. Goddamned ONI cheapskates...I think he isn't inside the base. Just inside the perimeter fence...maybe out on the landing pad, or something." In the end, they managed to get Pace and Parnevik. Each were armed with modified pistols. Trent figured it was enough, it would have to be.

They swept through the base, making their way towards the garage. They were halfway there when the screaming began. The men broke into a run towards the sounds. Trent got there first, bursting into the garage to behold a scene straight out of a nightmare, or a horror film. Jason Voorhees stood in the center of the garage, large as life and twice as menacing. He really was a monster of a man, Trent realized, he had to be at least as tall as a Spartan. He was covered in fresh blood, his machete dripping it wetly onto the ground.

Clarke's body lay almost in half on the instacrete floor of the garage, an ever-widening pool of blood leaking out of his corpse. MacReady and the others came into the room around Trent. The four of them raised their weapons almost as one. Jason stared at them, his eyes wide and crimson from within their nests provided by the hockey mask, and tilted his head. He began raising the machete, dripping more blood onto his torn clothing.

The men opened fire. A volley of small, narrow darts, tipped with needles and full of a curiously glowing blue liquid, sailed across the open space. They covered the distance in almost no time flat and sank into Jason's flesh. The monster of a man took one step towards the men, then another, then, abruptly, toppled forward, shattering several of the darts against his bulky body. Silence drenched the garage.

"Well...that was easier than I thought it would," MacReady muttered.

"Come on...help me tie him up," Trent replied.


	58. Part VII: Nature of the Beast

**Chapter 58  
><strong>_-Nature of the Beast-_

"Is he...is he gonna be okay?"

"What do you mean 'is he gonna be okay'?_ He's cut in half!_"

"Who's cut in half!?" Trent and Pace turned around. Windows stumbled into the garage, rubbing his eyes. "What's going on?"

"Clarke, Clarke is cut in half," Trent replied. He glanced back at the unmoving corpse of their once great chef. "Well, almost in half."

"Like...down the middle in half?"

"What?! No! Normal in half! How do you even...nevermind. Pace, Mac, help me get this bastard into lockup. What do you have around here that'd serve as a good prison?" Trent asked, turning his attention to Jason.

"We've got an empty storage room. That'd be as good as anything," Mac replied. The others seemed resistant to the idea of touching Jason, so Trent and Mac handled it. Mac found a length of rope and began wrapping it around the big guy's torso and arms. Parnevik left the garage with Lavelle as they got to work.

"Sure that's gonna hold?" Trent asked as Mac tied the knot off tightly, then cut another length and began to wrap it around Jason's ankles.

"Thousand pound tested, friend-o. Here, cut off another length and do his wrists. Want this sucker tied up good and _tight_," Mac replied. Trent did as he asked. As they finished up their work, Trent glanced at the others. Windows, Norris and Pace all stood awkwardly to the side, uncertain of what to do. Parnevik and Lavelle reappeared a moment latter, the first carrying a body bag and the second rolling in a mop bucket. Mac sighed.

"Pace, help me and Trent carry this big sucker. Guy's huge. No, you know what, scratch that. There's a hover-dolly over there, somewhere, behind those crates. Go get it. Norris, I want you to go find a metal chair, biggest you can find, and drag it into the empty storage room. Windows...go roll blunts, lots of them, I'm gonna need one after all this shit..."

"Yeah, me too," Trent agreed. While Pace hunted down the hover-dolly, Trent tested the knots and the ropes, and watched Lavelle and Parnevik work. They worked together, first, shoving both halves of Clarke into the black body bag. Then Parnevik zipped it up and slung it over his shoulder, hauling it off to the infirmary, Trent assumed. Lavelle began to mop up the blood, pouring some cleaner over the site. Pace came back over with the dolly.

"Alright, alright...let's load this big bastard up," Mac growled. Trent figured Jason must've weighed something like three fifty, maybe even four hundred pounds. Maybe more. He was _heavy_. Somehow, they managed to get the bulky killer onto the hover-dolly. It strained and whined as Pace began pushing it out of the garage.

"You gonna tie him to a chair?" Trent asked as he made his way out with Mac. The base commander nodded, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Yep. God, I'm tired..." He yawned, forcing to Trent to do the same. He was tired, too, but he didn't want to go back to sleep. Visions of Veronica still haunted him. They followed Pace through the dreary corridors of the outpost until they came to the storage room. Trent ached for something, a stimulant or something. He'd never been a man of the coffee, like so many others seemed to be, but he did like the occasional energy drink.

When it got bad, sometimes he'd raid his medical kit for an adrenal stimulant, something to prop his eyelids up for a long time. He was considering one of those now. Sleep seemed to have eluded him lately, ever since he'd become Trent Temple and had solved his insanity. Was insomnia a side effect? He'd never really looked over the possible side effects, just trusted Childs and those technicians or doctors or scientists, or whatever they'd been.

Trent made a mental note to look into it as they came upon the storage room. Norris was just edging out the doorway, eying Jason warily, as Pace pushed the dolly into the room. Trent and Mac slipped in after him. After several minutes of grunting and sweating, they managed to get Jason propped up into the chair, then tied very firmly to it.

"Wish we had some chains," Pace muttered. "Or something more powerful."

"Thousand pound tested, Pace. Relax. Guy can't be _that_ strong," Mac replied.

"Don't be so sure...hey, Norris, could you run and get Parnevik? Tell him to come here, bring an empty syringe?" Trent asked. Norris glanced uncertainly at Mac, who nodded, then turned and hurried off, no doubt glad to be away from the living monster.

"What are you thinking?" Mac asked. "Blood test?" Trent nodded.

"Yeah. I wanna see what makes this guy tick...but listen, I've gotta go get into contact with my superiors, update them on the situation. We're gonna need someone to stand guard..." Trent stared into the room, watching as Pace checked out all the ropes.

"Me and Pace'll stay and watch the big ugly. Lock the door down tight. But...bring me back a blunt or two, yeah?"

"Yeah, sure." Trent began to make his way to the comms room. He passed Parnevik on the way, who was carrying a small medical kit. He stopped the medic.

"Hey, man. Get blood. Lotta it. Run as many tests as you can think of on that guy. I want to see what makes him tick." Parnevik nodded.

"You and me both, man." They parted ways. Trent found Windows in the comms room, hunched over a scattered pile of weed and several blunts. He chuckled and shoved four already-rolled blunts into his pocket.

"Thanks," he said. "Now, keep quiet, huh? I gotta report to the big boss man." Windows nodded, smiled and winked, then went back to work. Trent worked the communications controls for several moments until he had Childs on the line.

_"__What's the story, Trent?"_

"We caught him...lost one of the locals, though. But we bagged the guy. Pumped him full of that cocktail you sent down and we've got him tied up in a storage room. How long until that ship gets here, man?"

_"__I'm having them go as fast as they can. The deadline is now twelve hours. You'll have men with their boots hitting dirt and a cryo containment unit in twelve hours, Trent. And, good work, by the way. Very good work. I'm impressed."_

"Thanks, boss. Be seeing you." Trent cut the connection and fished one of the blunts from his pocket, lit it up with the zippo. Windows glanced up at him, lit up his own joint.

"So who do you work for, Trent...really? I mean, you reek of ONI...but not quite ONI. You're too...efficient. Too loose. You know? You smoke weed, you chill out, you, you know, kick it with us guys. ONI's got _rules_, feel me? So what are you, like, Section Zero? I've heard rumors about them, Trent. Like...Men In Black shit. Like, they make your ass disappear, all kinds of secret projects and experiments...you know?"

Trent sighed, took a hard pull and let the smoke drizzle out his nose, considering his response for a long time.

"I guess you could say I'm Section Zero. I can't really go into it, I mean, you're right, I _do_ got rules. But I mainly report to this one guy. And he's really high up there. And he doesn't give a crap if I toke up, so long as I can do my job. I mean, what difference does it make, right?" Trent shrugged. "I gotta get back. Thanks," he said, holding up the blunt.

"No problem, man." Trent left the comms room, again passing Parnevik on the way back, who was carrying the same case, although Trent imagine it was now full of syringes heavy with blood. He came to find Pace and Mac sitting with their backs against the wall on either side of the firmly closed and locked storage room door. Trent passed Pace one of the blunts.

"Why don't you get back to sleep? I'll handle the watch with Mac, come relieve me in a few hours," he said. Pace glanced at Mac, who nodded. Pace accepted the blunt and stood, disappearing down the corridor and around the corner. Trent passed Mac the remaining two blunts, then slid down into a sitting position where Pace had been.

"Sorry if I'm stealing your thunder," Trent said as Mac lit up. "I just...kinda do that. I've been in a lot of situations where the guy in charge was dead and I had to pick up the slack, or I've just been by myself, or with just one other good soldier."

"Hey, no skin off my nose," Mac replied. "I'm cool." They sat and smoked for a long time in silence. Trent killed his blunt and flicked the burnt stub somewhere down the corridor. Mac didn't seem to mind. He did the same when he killed his. Mac lit up the last one, took a hit, then passed it to Trent, who accepted it.

"Hey, Mac...got any good woman stories?" Trent asked after another long silence. Mac chuckled.

"Oh, yeah. Lots. Well, maybe not lots, not as many as you, I'm sure, but-"

"Oh no, not a lot for me. I...haven't had too much luck."

"Really? You?" Mac stared at him with his almost luminous blue eyes in surprise. "You're a certified hardass, Temple. Surprised you aren't ass-deep in tail twenty four seven." Trent laughed, long and hard.

"If you knew me...ah, man. I'm kinda a novice when it comes to girls. I've had four, in my life. One of those being a one-night stand with a stripper." Mac let out a long whistle.

"Four...man. Lemme tell you something, brother, doesn't matter how many you've had...you'll _always_ be a novice. I'd had a good two dozen...I'm still a novice, man. They still send me for a loop...got this girl I see every couple of days. She lives over in the colony, a little young but she's sweet. And...it's simple. We just...screw, then chill out for a while, maybe do a jay, maybe I take her out to eat or something, and then I come back here. Just a little r n' r. Man, I've been married and divorced twice. What about you?"

"I was engaged...but it all fell apart. I was young, stupid. Drove me a little crazy. Well...more than a little. But I finally got over it. Had me this other girl, she was a little older, but hot. Pale blonde with those thick thighs and a nice rack...we were steady for like five or six months. But...well, I kinda had a little stress breakdown, you know?" Trent felt awkward, talking about this stuff, even obliquely, all out in the open.

"With those stories you told me, ONI boy, I don't blame you. I've had one or two of those. Everyone has. No big deal."

"Yeah, well...I guess it was a big deal to her. I dunno...we'd been having problems. She's the jealous type, not like I was cheating on her or anything, but she'd get real paranoid. The sex was good, really good, but..." Trent shrugged.

"Hey, man. It's _always_ good with those psycho bitches." Mac laughed. "But, and I know it sounds mean, but it's the hard truth...that's all they're good for. They're no good in a relationship. Nothing but misery for both of you. Sometimes it's just better to screw and part ways, you know?" Trent found Mac's blatant view of life strangely comforting. Even a year ago, he'd have never even entertained the idea of recreational sex.

But life had proven him wrong. The sex he'd had with Misty and, he didn't want to admit it but had to, with Melissa, even if she'd broken up with him, had been better than the sex he'd had with Veronica. It wasn't that she was bad at it, not at all...it was just that he'd grown used to her. He knew all her buttons and she knew all his. And that made the sex good but...it left him wanting. And, he suspected, left her wanting, too.

Mac nudged him. "You know, man, those paranoid chicks...ah, nevermind. Forget I said anything." Trent looked over at him curiously.

"What?"

"No, man. I...I don't wanna offend you."

"Mac, I just dropped a scalding hot pile of responsibility on your lap with this jack-off we've got tied up that cost you the life of one of your friends...maybe I deserve to be offended."

"No, hey, Trent. Look...people die. I know this, we all do. And while we like it here at the outpost, yeah, it's a good break from after the war...we don't want to stay like this forever. If we can go down fighting...then so be it. Clarke went out like a man, like he wanted. The same can be said for all of us...except maybe Norris. He's got anxiety problems. But don't worry about that. Anyway...I was gonna say, those paranoid girls? And it goes for guys _and_ girls, they're mainly paranoid because they're compensating for something _they_ did.

"You get what I'm saying? My second wife, outta the blue, she started accusing me of cheating on her. Wanted to know where I'd been, who was this girl I was hanging out with, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. Come to find out, she'd started screwing around with this other guy. I talked to him, after the divorce, guy had no idea she was married. She said she was just looking for a friend with benefits, that she was single. Told me the day they'd hooked up...same day she started flipping out on me." Mac chuckled bitterly and killed the blunt.

They continued talking for several hours as the sun rose, until, suddenly, Trent was aware that Jason was awake. He stood up abruptly, mid-sentence. Mac stood up, too.

"What?" he asked.

"Jason's up...I wanna talk to him," Trent replied.

"_Talk_ to him?"

"Yeah...get to know him. See if he has anything worth saying." Trent handed Mac his modified pistol, "Cover me." Mac accepted it and nodded. The buzz of the weed had long ago worn off, replaced by the buzz of no sleep. But Trent felt himself sharpening up, focusing, as he unlocked and opened the door. Jason remained where they had put him, tied to a straight-back metal chair. The only difference was he was awake, and staring at Trent with maddened red eyes.

Trent came slowly into the room, stopping a good five feet away from Jason. He was tied up, still possibly drugged, and weaponless...but Trent didn't want to take any chances. He stood there and stared at Jason for a long time, deep into those bloody pools that passed for eyes. After several moments, Trent abruptly realized the man never blinked.

"Jason Voorhees..." Trent said slowly, not sure what to say. Jason's gaze never wavered, giving no indication that Trent had spoken. "Who are you?" Silence. "Jason," Trent took a step closer. "Who are you? _What_ are you? What's your past, your history? Why do you kill?" Jason's eyes began to slide up and down the length of Trent's body and he knew immediately he was being sized up, to see how easily he could be killed.

"Can you say anything? Can you even speak? Do you understand me?" If only he could read the man's face...but it was hidden behind that battered, stained, utterly ancient hockey mask. Only his eyes were exposed, and they were as alien as any Covenant or the Flood he'd come up against in battle. Maybe even more so.

Trent began to take another step forward, prepared to take off that hockey mask, then hesitated. He ultimately decided against it. This wasn't going anywhere, Jason either couldn't or wouldn't talk. Jason's crimson eyes abruptly shifted to stare behind Trent. He turned, spying Parnevik now, who looked haggard and frustrated. Trent sighed and left the room, locking the door behind him. He stared at Parnevik and Mac.

"What've you got for me?" Parnevik offered an explosive sigh of frustration.

"Nothing! All I could find is that, his cells, for some reason...they don't decay. At all. They divide and then they don't decay. I don't know...I can't offer anything. I'd need...months, at least. And constant access to him, and a full blown ONI lab."

"Well, that's where he's headed in about six hours," Trent replied. He yawned, finally feeling sleep calling him. As though on cue, Pace, rubbing sleep from his eyes and wielding a steaming cup of coffee, appeared from around the corner.

"Reporting for duty," he said with a lopsided grin.

"Thanks, man...I need some sleep. Later Mac, later Parnevik." The men wished him farewell and Trent began to make his way back through the base, towards his bed. Six hours of sleep, then he could wake up and oversee the transfer. Partway through his trek, he made a detour, stopping off at the garage. Lavelle had done a good job of cleaning up the blood, Trent couldn't see any hint of it. He did, however, spy Jason's abandoned machete, lying on the ground. Trent walked over to it and picked it up, stared at it.

It had held up well over time. It was slightly rusted, though that could just be from all the blood. The blade still looked sharp. Trent stared at it, bathed in the light of the rising sun. How many lives had this single machete ended? How much death and suffering had it seen? He shuddered, briefly, and put the blade onto one of the work tables.

Hoping for real sleep, Trent made his way to his bed.


	59. Part VII: Machete & A Hockey Mask

**Chapter 59  
><strong>_-Machete & A Hockey Mask-_

Trent awoke to the sounds of screaming and gunfire. It was intimately familiar to him. He bolted upright, groping for his gun as a surge of adrenaline shot through his system. He'd gone to sleep in his uniform, but not his armor. Without bothering to pull it on, Trent grabbed the modified pistol and the tracker, which he had turned off since they'd captured the big bastard. Stumbling out of his room, rubbing sleep from his eyes, Trent flicked on the tracker.

He couldn't see anyone, but distantly he could hear someone shouting orders. Mac. Trent began jogging down the dormitories corridor. He navigated his way through the base as quickly as he could, keeping his eyes out for Jason or any of his victims. After another few moments of confusion, Trent wound his way to the storage room where they'd been keeping him. There was an incredible amount of blood staining the metal floor, walls and ceiling.

The door that was meant to hold Jason had been buckled and dented, and now hung at an awkward angle. Trent skidded to a halt, nearly slipping in the blood, and stared into the room. Pace's body, minus a head, lay at the foot of the chair, which had been twisted, the ropes meant to hold Jason discarded on the ground.

"Shit..." Trent whispered, shifting his attention to the tracking unit. He immediately noticed that Jason was moving away from the base at a slow speed, no doubt stalking into the dense foliage. At least this time they'd be going after him in daylight. Trent heard commotion coming from the direction of the garage and ran for it. He found the other surviving members of the team gathered around the crates, gathering up weapons.

"Trent!" Mac called. "Wondering if you'd slept through the whole thing!" he cried, then laughed wildly.

"What happened!?" Trent replied, rushing up.

"Bastard broke his way through it all," Parnevik replied grimly. "We're loading up, going after him. You coming?"

"Hell, yeah. Count me in...but wait for me. I need to get my armor and get into contact with the others."

"Hurry." Trent nodded and raced out of the garage. He bolted to his bedroom and yanked his modified ODST armor in in record time, already running for the comms shack while securing his helmet. He quickly keyed his interior radio to the base's comms array and dialed up Childs.

"Childs, we've got a situation down here!" Trent yelled, near-panic coursing through his veins. He forced himself to calm down and began making sure his modified arsenal was in working order.

_"__What's going on, Trent? That security ship just dropped into orbit. They're preparing to come down with the cryo unit."_

"It's Jason, sir! He's escape. Killed another one of the locals and he's heading into the woods. We're going after him."

_"__Well, wait for the damned security team. Why wasn't someone feeding him more of those tranq darts?"_ Childs asked. Trent stopped everything he was doing, blinking in flat-out surprise.

"I...I...holy crap, that never crossed my mind," he replied.

_"__Whatever. Just get it done. I want this wrapped up...there's another situation developing that requires your attention. Quite immediately."_

"What situation?"

_"__You'll be briefed on the ship."_ Trent sighed and cut the connection. There was no way he'd keep Mac and the others from hunting down Jason very personal like. He hoped they hadn't left without him. He hurried back to the garage and found them rallying around the exterior. Trent was struck by how dark it was outside. He joined them at the edge of the garage and stared up, spying thick black storm clouds overhead.

The winds were blowing, heavily. Trent tried to see a hint of a dropship but couldn't see anything. He shifted his attention to the forest, hunting for Jason, but, big as he was, he'd disappeared into the treeline. Trent quickly consulted his tracking unit and saw that Jason was nearly a quarter mile away now.

"If we hurry, we can get to him. Come on," he said. The others gave murmurs of approval and he began to lead them away from the base.

* * *

><p>The forest was dark and dense. It smelled of raw-edged nature and was silent as a tomb. Trent had his motion tracker on, but hadn't seen anything but himself and the team since they'd hit the treeline and began making a beeline for Jason's tracker. He felt guilty that another one had died. Pace had seemed like a nice guy. He felt <em>stupid<em> for not having shot Jason again with another tranq dart or seven, but took a small quantum of solace in the knowledge that none of the other guys had thought of it either. He sharpened up as they drew closer.

Jason had stopped moving. Trent figured the guy was laying a trap for them. Even if they knew where he was, he still had a million places to hide in the dense forest. Trent was being hunted, and he knew it. The notion gave him chills. They broke into a clearing and the men immediately spread out, hunting for the bulky killer.

But there was nothing. Trent frowned, squinting, keeping an eye on his motion tracker. He glanced at the tracking unit. It showed that Jason was right in front of them. In the center of the clearing. He stared hard at where he was supposed to be, then his eyes widened slightly as he spied something glimmering in the dying sunlight.

He motioned for the others to cover him and moved forward in a crouch. He knelt and grabbed whatever it was. It was a small, round, very bloody piece of technology. Trent frowned for several seconds, contemplating it. Realization abruptly dawned on him and, with a growing horror, he threw down the device.

"He's here!" he screamed. Jason had ripped the tracking device out of his own body. "Look out, he's-" Jason burst forth from the treeline, his machete held high, and decapitated Norris without hesitation. Everyone screamed as they were sprayed with blood, momentarily distracted. Jason began to make for Mac, and the base commander raised the shotgun he'd grabbed and fired. Deceptively fast, Jason dodged the dart.

Trent knew he needed to end this now. He spied a bloody hole in Jason's chest, where he'd ripped the tracking device free, and sprinted forward. Putting all his own personal strength into it, amplified by the modified ODST suit, Trent punched Jason directly in the chest, in the bloody hole he'd made for himself.

Not only did it stop Jason, it sent him stumbling backwards. Jason began to raise his machete, but his arm seemed to fail him. He clutched at his chest, weakened, and stared at Trent with maddened crimson eyes. Suddenly, almost faster than any of them could track, Jason turned and sprinted away, disappearing into the treeline.

"Well shit!" Windows cried. "Now what?!" Overhead, the sound of a Pelican dropship could be heard. Everyone glanced up, squinting in the bright lights and powerful winds, as the Pelican began to land directly in the clearing.

"What's this!?" Mac cried.

"Backup!" Trent replied. The men cleared out as the Pelican landed. The back ramp blossomed open and a dozen men in sleek black armor, their faces hidden behind opaque visors, began to pound down the ramp, rolling an enormous cryo unit with them as they went. The back ramp closed as soon as they were clear and the Pelican powered down. One of them broke away from the group with the others began powering up the cryo unit.

"Specialist Temple," one of them said, standing before Trent. "What's the situation?" Trent suppressed the urge to say, 'Oh, so I'm a _specialist_ now, huh?' and instead updated the man on the situation. The man, who identified himself as Sergeant Cross, nodded and rallied his men.

"We'll assist you."

It began to rain.

* * *

><p>They plunged into the treeline, armed and armored to the teeth. Trent was tempted to tell Mac and the others to get back to the base, but knew they wouldn't listen, especially not now that they'd lost another good man. Cross left two men back with the cryo unit and the Pelican. The sensors from the ship gave them a weak life sign and the basic direction Jason had run off to. He was wounded. Trent hoped that would slow him down.<p>

Trent had hunted before, hunted aliens mostly, or things that had once been men. And he'd _been_ hunted before, too, by skilled Elites and Brutes that could scent the air and inhuman Flood that somehow seemed to _know_ where you were. But this...this was different. He could feel Jason all around him, as though the serial killer was tapped into every tree, every plant, every bush and leaf. The experience was terrifying.

Jason took the first man five minutes in. The point man, who Cross only called Roberts, was there one second, gone the next. Trent caught a brief blur of motion as Jason appeared out of the treeline and took the armored man in one, quick swipe. They heard him screaming and took off after him, firing blindly into the underbrush. Cross told them the darts couldn't penetrate armor. Roberts' screams cut off very abruptly and all was eerily silent.

They wasted five minutes looking for Roberts and finally found him propped up against a tree, missing one of his arms and his head. They found the head a few meters away. They never found the arm.

"Jesus," one of the men whispered.

"Focus up! We've done this before, we can do it again!" Cross shouted. As they began to head deeper into the forest through the pouring rain, continuing the hunt, Cross quietly confided to Trent that he'd led the original team that had managed to take down Jason. It had been a long, hard fight, and he'd picked up a sixth sense for hunting the bastard.

"I can see why they sent you," Trent mumbled.

The second man went a few minutes later. There was a dark blur at the edge of the group, just off their peripheral as the motion trackers began to go off, and abruptly one of Cross' men was missing a head. It continued like that in the rainy gloom, the men getting picked off one by one, until only Trent, his crew and Cross remained.

"He's getting smarter," Cross growled. "And faster."

"This isn't working," Trent pointed out.

"Yeah, I know-" There was a sharp sound, followed by a wet sound and a spray of blood. Cross looked down slowly to see a machete protruding from his armored chest. He coughed, wetly, once, and then fell backwards. Jason stalked slowly out of the treeline into the tiny clearing they'd come into. Trent knelt and grabbed the machete, yanked it out of Cross' chest. Jason stopped a few meters away, staring at him.

"Leave," Trent said without taking his eyes off the killer.

"But-" Mac began.

"_Go_!" Trent heard the men begin to shuffle silently out of the clearing, hopefully back to the men at the Pelican or, more preferably, back to their own base. This was between the two of them. Trent hefted the machete, staring coldly at Jason.

"Come and get it, bitch," he growled. Jason seemed eager to oblige. He began to march forward, hands clenched into fists. As he came within arm's reach, Trent brought the machete back and snapped it forward, intent on decapitating Jason. It didn't work. Jason raised one arm, the machete sinking into his wrist and rebounding off the bone so hard it nearly jarred the machete from Trent's grasp.

Jason was like quicksilver. He punched Trent in the chest so hard it knocked him on his ass, dented his armor and drove the breath from his lungs. He narrowly dodged as Jason tried to stomp his guts out, the bulky killer's foot driving deep into the mud where Trent had been a moment before. He lurched to his feet and tried again. This time, the blade buried itself into Jason's shoulder. The killer grabbed the blade and yanked it out, then tried to rip it free of Trent's grasp. The blood and rainwater made it slippery.

Trent managed to rend it free, taking several steps back. His chest hurt horribly and he suspected one or two of his ribs might be broken. He couldn't keep this up for long. Jason lunged again and Trent narrowly dodged out of the way. He saw an opportunity and went for it. While Jason was lunging past him as he stepped back, Trent brought the blade up and, with all his remaining power, swung the blade into the back of his neck.

It was like magic. The blade cleaved straight through Jason's neck. His body went stumbling and crashed to the wet ground, while his head sailed a few feet through the air and landed with a heavy _thud_. Trent let out a sigh. He knew ONI would be pissed, but they could screw off. If their research was right, he'd be fine, eventually.

Trent, on the other hand, was decidedly _not_ immortal. He limped over to Jason's head, knelt, grabbed it and began limping back to the Pelican and the cryo unit.

* * *

><p>"What's this!?" one of the men cried.<p>

"What you came for," Trent replied after having thrown Jason's head at their feet.

"Where's the rest of him!?" the other yelled.

"Back there, in the forest, with the others."

"We're going to have your _ass_ for this," one of them hissed, kneeling and picking up Jason's head. He put it into the cryo unit. Trent was already making his way back to Outpost 31.

"Eat me."


	60. Part VIII: Cold Drop

_**Part VIII: Silent Hell**_

**Chapter 60  
><strong>_-Cold Drop-_

"What were you thinking, Temple?" Childs asked. Trent stepped out of the Pelican into the hangar of what he had finally learned was called the _Sunstrider_. He was exhausted. After leaving Jason's head with the angry ONI operatives, he'd headed back to Outpost Thirty One and talked with the others for a while. They spent two hours commiserating, the men telling him stories about Pace, Clarke and Norris. Then everyone had smoked a joint in a toast to the dead. Trent liked to think that those who had died might have approved.

Unfortunately, after a while, he hadn't been able to ignore Childs' messages anymore and had gotten onto the Pelican to take him back up to the ship. Trent just wanted to sleep, but knew, somehow, that he would still have trouble doing so. His mind began wandering to the medical kit he kept in his bedroom and the morphine injection there.

"I was thinking that I was sick of this shit, and that I hated that bastard," Trent replied, finally. Childs, surprisingly, didn't sound angry. More like genuinely confused. He frowned, his mouth twitching.

"That's not good, Trent. Brass is pissed. I managed to smooth things over but..." Childs sighed suddenly. "Come on, Trent. Have a drink with me." Trent pulled out a Yeheyuan and lit up as he crossed the distance between them. Once he reached him, Childs turned and started walking, leading Trent out of the hangar and into the small network of corridors. The ship seemed...empty, almost. They'd dropped off all the others. Passing only the occasional technician in black featureless jumpsuits, they eventually came to an empty lounge. While Trent took a seat at the bar, Childs walked slowly behind it.

"What's your poison?" he asked, crouching and hunting through the collection of bottles hidden there.

"I don't know...gimme some...you got any J and B Rare Scotch?" Trent replied after a moment's contemplation.

"Matter of fact I do. Here, we'll share the bottle." Childs stood back up, reappearing with a square bottle and a pair of mugs. He filled each up, then came and sat down heavily next to Trent. He took a long drink and then stared at the wall for several moments before talking. Trent smoked and drank and let him think. Finally, he spoke up.

"Trent...I'm gonna say it straight. You're probably one of the best Survivors we have in this whole thing. But...well, there's a lot of mitigating and incriminating circumstances at play here. Pros and cons, you know? Things working for and against you. First off...the Brass, the guys up top in ONI Section Zero...they're not entirely convinced that this whole Survivor Initiative is a good thing. I mean, this project, it's my baby. My brain child. I was the one that started up the research program ten years ago on the concept of luck." Childs paused for a few seconds, took another drink, then shifted his gaze towards Trent.

"Think I could get one of those cigs?" Trent responded by reaching into the front pocket of his uniform, pulling out the pack and Zippo and setting them both down on the counter in between them. Childs thanked him and took one, lit up, blew a perfect smoke ring.

"Okay...so...I've always had my theory about luck. That it was a real, tangible force that can be measured. Luck particles, I called them, that stuck to some people and avoided others. I mean, life just seemed like that. What so many other people chalked up to circumstance or chance or happenstance...I saw a scientific method there. I worked my way up through ONI, got into Section Zero and carved a name for myself.

"I finally talked the Brass into giving me a team and some funding. Did a decade of research...finally found what we were looking for. The elusive Luck particle. Though it was dubious at best...still not a hundred percent on it. But it _makes sense_. You know Section Zero is basically just Internal Affairs for ONI? I spent eight months putting together my perfect idea of the Survivor Initiative...funding, personnel, Survivors themselves, a screening process, equipment...you were at the top of the list, you know?

"Yeah. You popped up on my radar even back when you were in the Marines. When you hopped up into the ODSTs, only made it all the better. And that stunt you pulled on New Jerusalem...and surviving in New Mombasa...good stuff. But, back to my point, one of the only real ways I managed to get the Brass to agree to let this whole project work was to agree to devote a considerable amount of our resources to policing the other ONI sections.

"And there's other things going on, too. I mean, the Brass knows about your...treatment and your...condition. Me and the team that took care of you gave you a full bill of health, but, they're still paranoid. I mean, they're impressed to all hell with your record so far. You're a great soldier. You can get things done. We like throwing you against situations knowing you'll more than likely come out on top.

"But you've still got that insanity thing, and that, combined with the uncertainty of this whole project...well, Trent, I guess I'm just asking you to be more careful, you know? I need your help on this, all of you guys. I need you guys following orders and getting the job done. Can I count on you for that, Trent?"

"Yeah..." Trent felt bad now, guilty. "I'm sorry, Childs. I won't do it again. I...you've given me an amazing opportunity here. I'll do whatever I can to make sure we stay afloat." Childs laughed and slapped him on the back a few times, then killed the rest of his booze in one go.

"Thanks, Trent! Knew I could count on you. Now that we've got all that heavy shit out of the way...got a new mission for you." Before Childs could continue, Trent held up his hand.

"I want to hear about it, but first, a question. Who were those guys? Cross and the others? They didn't seem like regular guys. Not Marines, not ODST. Well, maybe the other guys were ODST, but Cross...something was special about him. He wasn't another Survivor, was he?"

"No, no he wasn't. He was Black Ops. They agreed to work with us on this one...though, after your stunt, I'm not sure they will again." Trent winced.

"Sorry."

"No, no...it might actually be a good thing. One of the other reasons Section Zero allowed this little project to work was because they're getting...nervous, about Black Operations. They're reporting in less and less, even to the top echelon, who are my actual bosses. How it goes is, my bosses, the Admirals and Generals and a few select others that make up the Board of Operations for Section Zero, they all have Q-5 clearance. You and me, we've got Q-4. For a long time, I thought Q-5 was the highest clearance known to mankind...then I ran into Black Ops. They've got ST-8 clearance...I've never run into it _anywhere_ else.

"I mean, it makes sense...but the Brass, they don't like not being talked to. By anyone. When they put Black Ops into effect, years ago, they gave them that clearance for the good of Humanity, so that they would be able to do whatever needed to be done, to bypass the bureaucracy, cut through the red-tape bullshit and _do something_. It's worked, several times. There have been lots of situations that Black Ops has had the insight to salvage ships and colonies by acting fast and decisively. But...something's been wrong lately.

"Brass never trusted Black Ops, but begrudgingly accepted them as a necessary evil. But lately...I don't know. Like I said, they haven't been talking to us much. This operation was pretty shady. We hardly knew they were coming to get Jason in the first place. We were surprised they came to us at all. I think they were testing us out...seeing what we're capable of..." Childs drifted off again, and Trent wondered how much the man knew, or suspected, about Black Ops. Obviously, he thought something was up. He perked back up suddenly.

"So, that's the answer to your question. Now, you get to listen to my wonderful voice some more. Your mission is...difficult. Like most of them. But this time you'll have some backup at least. We're heading back to Earth." Trent felt a cold wave of fear shoot through him. Childs stood up and motioned for Trent to follow him.

"Did something happen to Earth?" He still had nightmares about Voi, about burning buildings and an endless wave of things that used to be men. Childs led him out of the lounge and down the corridor to a briefing room. It was dim and cool. Trent slipped into one of the chairs, Childs settled into another.

"No, nothing major. There's a problem with a small settlement called Silent Hill," he began, then typed something into the laptop embedded in the table in front of him. The lights dimmed further and a holographic projection sprang to life in the center of the broad table, showing a far view of a small town nestled against a lake and surrounded by a forest.

"Interesting history, Silent Hill. You can read up on it on your way there, but basically lots of cult activity, lots of mysterious disappearances, lights in the skies...that kinda deal. Whole town has been destroyed several times. Way back in the day, 2014, whole place was wiped off the map by a bomb. No one knows who or why, but the file suggests a government cover up. It was rebuilt not but a few months later. There's been a great deal of rebuilding and abandonment. The city becomes a ghost town about every fifty years, sometimes for a good reason, sometimes for no reason at all. It's all very...curious."

"Why hasn't it been investigated before?"

"It has, several times. Nothing was ever very solidly turned up, but a lot of men were lost investigating it. And, more often than not, the government and the military rarely have time for curiosities. As for the most recent history, the town has been doing decently...until it was abandoned again last year. No one knows why. Half the town's population just...disappeared. When interviewed, the other half that made it out have very little to say. Lots of them just...left. Left their things behind, and all. Apparently, they'd rather be broke and, in some cases, homeless, than live in Silent Hill," Childs explained. Trent realized he was enjoying this mysterious briefing.

"So...what happened?"

"As technology develops, we have the ability to scan more and more spectrums. Someone doing a routine scan of the area, with that new technology garnered from the Forerunners and the Elites, picked up some _very_ strange activity in the area. What they've called paranormal. I was fed the information and I sent a team in to investigate...they haven't reported back. And that's a big deal, considering they're being led by a former Spartan Two." Trent blinked in shock at that. Childs grinned and typed something again.

The image of the town was replaced by the image of a tall, deathly pale woman with deeply crimson hair, as though it had been soaked in blood. She was thin and cut with lithe, lean muscle. Trent was immediately attracted to her, perhaps more so knowing that she was a Spartan. Getting it on with a Spartan was something he'd often thought about.

"Traditionally, Silent Hill has screwed with technology and communications, so it may just be that. But you never know and-"

"Hold up. Whoa. Time out. _How_ did you get a Spartan Two in on this?" Childs chuckled. He reached into his pocket and took out one of the Yeheyuans he'd taken from Trent's pack, lit it up with his own custom Zippo lighter.

"When the war ended, Linda was one of the few Spartan Twos left alive. She was offered an opportunity to join the new Spartan Four Program...which, by the way, keep under your hat. It's still officially classified. But, she declined."

"Why?"

"She got a better offer." Childs grinned. "I offered her Survivor Status. She took it almost immediately. She was the first. I've had her running missions for me for a couple months now. She's there now, in Silent Hill. I had her shuttled there about half a day ago with a group of ODSTs." Trent frowned.

"I thought these Spartans were all...lone wolf types." Childs nodded.

"Yes, they traditionally are. Especially her. She has been for a while now. But she's been...trying new things out. I've been speaking to her for a while now and she says that, while she'll always be a Spartan, she's at a point in her life where she needs to try new things. Something about coming through to the other side...she'll explain it to you, once you two meet and get some downtime. Anyway, I want you to go in after her. There's been...a development. Someone, a lot of someones, have begun landing in Silent Hill, and we don't know who they are. More than likely, it was the same guys that you bumped into on that Forerunner ship."

"Oh. Fantastic. Loved those guys," Trent muttered. Childs punched something into the laptop and the hologram died, the lights came back up to normal.

"Also, you won't be alone. We're picking up your friend, Cann." Trent grinned.

"Cann, huh? Cool. I liked that guy. What kinda timetable am I looking at?"

"With the stop to grab Cann and then get to Earth, about ten hours."

"Good, time enough for a nap. Wake me when it's time. Not before. I'm exhausted." Childs nodded as they made their way out of the briefing room.

"Alright. See you in ten hours." Trent turned and made his way towards his cabin, rubbing at his eyes. Morphine. It was all he could think of. Do it right, and it'd help you sleep. He remembered hitting the stuff in his early days as a Marine, a friend of his told him about it. A painkiller, a sleep aid. He wanted some more weed, but he hadn't thought to ask Windows for any. He considered asking Childs to get him some as he slipped into his room and pulled the medpak from its place on the wall. Unzipping it, he found the injection of morphine.

Just a little, to help him sleep.

* * *

><p>"Trent, you okay, man?" Trent blinked awake and stared up at Cannioto, who was standing over him, frowning down at him.<p>

"Yeah, man...how'd you get in here?" Trent asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Had it been ten hours already? He glanced at the clock, found it had been eleven. That wasn't right. He couldn't remember having any dreams. What did they _put_ in that stuff? He remembered injecting the morphine, then laying down...then Cannioto, standing over him.

"Door was unlocked. Childs sent me to wake you. We're getting ready to drop, man...are you okay? Your eyes are kinda bloodshot." Trent shook his head and sat up. He pulled the blankets aside and stood, swaying slightly.

"I'm good, man." Cann's eyes slid to the abandoned injector on Trent's bedside table, then flicked back to Trent. Neither man said anything. "Lemme take a shower, change, then I'll be out. Real quick, five minutes." Cann nodded silently and slipped out of the room. Trent made a mental note not to take the whole thing next time and quickly gathered up a fresh black uniform. He showered as quickly as he could, turning up the water as hot as he could stand it. When he was done, he toweled off and dressed.

Trent stared at the medical kit for a few seconds as he finished dressing. There were some uppers in there, a shot of adrenaline. It would do good to get pumped up for the mission. No telling what he could run into down there. Trent grabbed it and stared at it. Epinephrine, good. He gave himself a quarter of an injection, then replaced it in the kit, threw away the morphine injector and resealed the medpak. He replaced it on the wall, then hurried out to catch up with Cann. He could feel his body reacting, his blood pumping faster.

A few moments later, he was pulling on his armor, staring at a drop pod. It had been a while since he'd used one. Both he and Cann slipped into matching, sleek black sets of armor. Trent noticed several modifications had been made to his armor since he'd taken on Jason. He was impressed, it hadn't been but twelve hours since he'd come onboard. It was repaired and smooth, looking clean and new. He found a few new features hooked into his HUD, including several filtering programs for his VISR and an upgraded comms unit.

He took his regular compliment of silenced weapons, an SMG and a pistol, as well as spare ammo for both and grenades. He slipped a combat knife into its sheath.

"Ready for this?" Trent asked as they got into their pods.

_"__You know it,"_ Cann replied through their comms link as the doors closed.

Seconds later, the pods were shunted from the ship, dropping down onto familiar turf from a high orbit.


	61. Part VIII: Welcome to Silent Hill

**Chapter 61  
><strong>_-Welcome to Silent Hill-_

The pod trembled as it cut through Earth's atmosphere. Trent was having flashbacks. How many times had he done this during the war, after New Mombasa? He reflected fondly on those days. Sure, they'd been a nightmare at the time, hunting bands of killer Brutes through the ruins of burning cities with the stench of burnt flesh in the air. But it had often been punctuated by a night or two of furious, passionate sex, a hot bath, a good meal and a long sleep. Back then, things had been easier. He still had Veronica and the war was still on.

But that was all gone now. He was alone. Well, maybe not wholly alone. He still had Cann and a few other people he might call friends, scattered across the stars. And, of course, he still had Enzo, wherever that big Elite might be. Suddenly, the pod broke through the cloud cover and Trent was offered a high view of the area. The landscape was beautiful, of that there was no doubt. He could see a vast forest surrounding a broad lake made gray by the lonely clouds overhead. It was snowing and mist shrouded the land.

Trent caught sight of the colony nestled up against the frozen lake. Was it still winter? Trent scanned his chronometer in the pod and was surprised to find that it was almost the end of March by now. Where did the time go? He had completely lost track of the days and weeks, everything bleeding into one long timeline of confusion.

With a crunch, the pod slammed into the earth, the front of it cracking open and flying outwards, away from the main body. Trent made sure his arsenal and equipment were in order, then stepped out of the pod. He spied Cann ten meters away. They'd landed at the edge of the forest, on the outskirts of town, near the residential zone. They regrouped, meeting halfway, their boots crunching in the recently fallen snow.

"Cold here," Cann murmured. "Haven't seen winter in a long time, man." He was staring at the line of low housing structures, a few dozen meters away.

"Yeah..." Trent glanced back at the darkened treeline and shivered briefly, not entirely from the cold. What was it about forests that was so creepy? He tried not to let memories of Slender and Jason creep up on him as he turned his back on the trees. The two men started walking, weapons in hand. At first it was silent, then, finally, Cann broke it.

"So...you into morphine?" he asked casually. Trent hesitated, thrown off by the blunt manner in which Cann had asked the question.

"I...use it, sometimes...to help me sleep."

"Don't worry, Trent. I'm not judging you. Just curious. I'm a simple man, Trent. I like the pleasures of life. Women, combat, drugs, booze...whatever. But they can all lead down dark roads. I've been down those roads a few times, and I hate to see others go down it, you know? I guess I'm just saying...be careful."

"I hear you. Thanks. I'll...I should be fine. I've been having insomnia lately. So, what were you up to, before we got you?"

"Childs doesn't want me talking about it, but...whatever. Not like it's a big deal if we talk to each other. It was a big nothing, man. False alarm. I was babysitting a bunch of scientists at a Forerunner dig site. They were really scared that there might be Flood or something just as bad hiding down in the Forerunner building. But place was empty. Dead. I've gotta admit, I'm kinda psyched about this operation. Sounds really scary, like a horror movie, you know? A good one. Lots of mystery and enigma."

"Yeah...but I think you'll find it's not as fun when you're _living_ the horror movie."

"Psh, whatever. We've got power armor and machine guns. I think we can handle whatever Silent Hill throws at us."

Trent wasn't sure what to say to that and wished he had Cann's confidence. As they came to the line of housing, Trent surveyed the area. A low, iron fence ran the length of the housing, segmenting the wilderness from the backyards. Trent checked his motion tracker, staring at it for several seconds, only seeing himself and Cannioto. They hopped the fence, landing in the backyard silently. Trent stared up at the two-story house before him.

"Should we knock?" Cann asked as they approached. Trent chuckled. The back door was of the sliding glass variety. It was cracked and frosted over. Trent grabbed it and pulled it open, just wanting to be out of the cold for a moment. He turned up the heating elements in his suit as he stepped inside, inspecting the room beyond. It had once been a living room. Paintings on the wall, flat screen TV, (also cracked), shredded couch and recliner. The place had the feel of abrupt abandonment, as though the family had up and left months ago.

Which, Trent knew, was what had happened. While Cann began exploring the house, Trent walked to the front, finding the front door broken, hanging at an awkward angle. He stared at the door for a long time, trying to figure out what caused the damage. There was a great dent in the front of it. He finally decided that someone must have smashed it with an enormous blade of some sort. Stepping out onto the front porch, Trent surveyed the street before him, a horizontal cul-de-sac, and activated his radio.

A few long ago abandoned cars littered the street.

"This is...Specialist Trent Temple of ONI broadcasting on a broadband frequency to anyone that can hear me." He waited. When no one responded, he repeated the message twice more. He sighed. "Cann, can _you_ hear me?"

_"__Yeah...but you're kinda fuzzy,"_ Cann replied from somewhere deeper in the house through their link. Trent frowned, his concern growing as he heard the static-laced nature of the transmission. Already, there were problems.

"Fantastic...join me on the porch." Trent stared out across the street, trying to see any hint of movement. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him. Almost all the doors in the area were closed, the windows shuttered. Trent snapped his gaze left as he caught something off his peripheral. He stared at it for several seconds. There was...he thought he saw a face, staring darkly at him in the siding of one of the houses. For a second, he thought it was an optical effect, just a trick of the light, but it remained.

"Trent." Trent jumped slightly as Cann placed a hand on his shoulder. "You good?"

"Yeah..." Trent refocused on the spot, only to see that the face was gone. He blinked several times. Was it the morphine? He didn't think so, but it could be. "Sorry. Find anything?"

"No. Nothing. Now what?"

"We start poking around. Check out some of the houses. Make our way deeper into the city," Trent replied. Cann nodded and they set off. The pair departed from the front porch, making their way through the snow-stricken yard and into the misty street. Trent led the way, making for an intersection at the opposite end of the cul-de-sac. His VISR function was doing a decent job of cutting through the snowy fog.

"So...how'd _your_ last project go?" Cann asked as they made their way slowly along the streets.

"I dunno...good. I guess. I was tasked with recapturing an immortal serial killer that wears a hockey mask and uses a machete. Cut his head off and gave it to Black Ops as a present." Cann let out a long whistle.

"Now that's what I'm _talking_ about, man! A real Survivor Initiative mission. You meet any women during the op?"

"Nah. Place I stayed out was just a bunch of guys. Really cool guys though. We toked it up and relaxed. You know, in between all the murder. But _this_ op on the other hand...Childs must've told you we're being accompanied by a live Spartan."

"Eh...yeah. Spartan ladies...not so much my thing."

"Did you _see_ that picture of her?!"

"Yeah. I did. If she were maybe two feet shorter, then I'd be interested but...the taller ladies don't do it so much for me. I mean, _definitely_ not over seven feet. I dunno, man. It's just...I can't get it up if I'm intimidated by the woman I'm try to sleep with, you feel me?"

"Not at all, I'm afraid. I have _always_ wanted to sleep with a Spartan. At least, ever since I heard about them. I don't know, there's just...something, about a woman that could kick my ass. I guess that's why I'm attracted to these military type girls."

"Maybe, but-did you see that?" Trent snapped his gaze to the right, where Cann was looking, and caught a hint of dark movement from behind one of the windows. The pair silently flicked the safeties off their weapons and hurried over to the house, covering it with their barrels as they advanced. They came up to either side of the front door. Trent reached out and tried the handle. It was unlocked. He opened the door.

Another derelict living room awaited his inspection. The two moved silently into the house, slowly going from room to room, trying to find the thing that had moved. They cleared the first floor, then the second, finding nothing but empty rooms and desolate furniture. A sense of forlorn despair stained the house, clinging to everything, filling the rooms like an odorless, invisible gas. The pair found a door leading down to the basement.

"Should we check it out?" Cann asked quietly.

"Yeah...we should." Trent opened the door. Cann took point. They crept as quietly as they could down the creaky stairwell. There was light at the bottom, but it was flickering and dim, coming from a single, naked bulb hanging on a lonely wire from the ceiling. They reached the bottom. The bulb was swaying gently, shadows swelling and melting. It messed with Trent's combat senses, sending out false readings of approaching hostiles.

The two spread out, slowly investigating the basement. It was a tomb of antique furniture, abandoned boxes of random refuse and ancient belongings. A tomb cast in bleak, cracked instacrete stained with time and age. They almost found nothing...until they both came to stand silently before a small area of space settled in between a water-heater and a stack of boxes. Between them was a section of wall. Upon that wall was a drawing.

"What...is that?" Trent muttered. It was a circle, the outline of which was filled with runic drawings and symbols. Inside of the circle were three more smaller circles. Mixed in with the smaller circles were more symbols. Trent didn't recognize any of them. Beneath the strange drawing, which appeared to have been done in charcoal, was a simple message.

**There was a hole here.**

"Creepy," Cann said softly. A chill went through both men. Suddenly, Trent's motion detector flickered to life. An unknown signal appeared, far off to his left. He glanced over at Cann, who stared back at him.

Wordlessly, both men hurried out of the basement.


	62. Part VIII: We've Got Hostiles

**Chapter 62  
><strong>_-We've Got Hostiles-_

Trent and Cann hustled up to the first floor, hurrying into the dining room that offered a view of the street. They were cautious to stay hidden from view, standing on either side of the main window. The signal was still there on the motion trackers, though whatever it was wasn't moving around very much. Trent peered slowly onto the street, sweeping his vision from left to right, trying to determine who or what it was.

Then he saw it. The mist had grown worse outside, the snow billowing, he could hardly see to the house across the street. There was figure, walking slowly down the center of the road. There was something...wrong with it, though. It swayed, as though very, very drunk, practically waddling like a duck. Trent frowned in confusion as his VISR cut through the mist and began to pick out details. It appeared not to have any arms, as though it were wearing a straightjacket and the skin was...he zoomed in, then regretted it. The skin was ashen and burnt.

There was nothing even remotely resembling a face.

"What...the _hell_...is that?" Cann whispered, his voice shot through with fear. Trent had to admit, he'd never seen anything like it before. The closest thing he could compare it to was a Flood, though that was a stretch. But where a Flood had been frightening, this thing was downright terrifying. While he had some idea of what the Flood were capable of, he had _no_ idea what this thing might do. Even though it looked harmless...

"We should go out there," Trent murmured.

"What? _Why_?"

"Because. We're going to have to face...whatever is in this place sooner or later. We need to see what we're up against." Cann sighed, then shrugged. They moved over to the front door. Trent opened it up and led the way barrel-first. They went to the driveway, tracking the motion of the thing with their weapons. It was further down the street now, somehow managing to move in a straight line despite how insane its wobble was.

"Identify yourself!" Trent called. The creature stopped.

"What are you doing!?" Cann hissed.

"What if it can...I dunno, talk? You wanna blow away a sentient creature without hearing its side of the tale first, you jerk?" Cann sighed again.

"Whatever. You get to go first," he replied, taking a step back. Trent kept his sight on the thing, which had now turned around and was making its way towards him. A low, irritating static began to bleed from his headset.

"Hold it!" Trent yelled. "ONI Specialist!" He kept the gun trained on the creature. It didn't show any signs of stopping or even recognizing that he'd spoken. There was something dripping from its chest. Trent began to suspect that he may have made a mistake. Whatever it was that dripped sizzled whenever it hit the ground. The thing, which Trent began to think of as an Armless Man, reached the bottom of the driveway.

It paused. A sound, taken directly from his worst nightmares, began emanate from it. Trent's radio began to squeal violently.

"Shit, shoot it! Shoot it!" Cann screamed. Before Trent could squeeze the trigger, a cloud of green mist shot forth from the thing's chest. Trent put two and two together and dove. Cann wasn't so lucky. The cloud attached to his rifle and immediately the sound of sizzling was prominent upon the air. He cried out and tossed it to the ground. From his prone position, Trent fired up at the creature, stitching a bloody line up its malformed torso.

The Armless Man was picked up and thrown backwards.

"Holy shit!" Cann cried. Trent hurried to his feet, first double-checking to make sure the thing was really dead, then going to investigate Cann's gun. There was hardly any left of it now.

"Way to go, Trent! You owe me a new gun." Trent chuckled.

"Not my fault you can't get your ass out of the way fast enough."

"_You're_ the one that wanted to _talk _to it! And-oh shit." Trent's motion tracker abruptly flared to life. A good dozen or so contacts flickered into existence on all sides. Cann drew his pistol. "Get ready," he murmured. Trent felt horrifically exposed. He began looking around for a place to go, to take cover, but it was too late. Dark shapes poured slowly from the surrounding snowy mist, coming for them. Trent drew a bead on the first one and squeezed the trigger. His SMG spat a barrage of bullets, drawing black blood from the first one in a vicious spray. But even as that one fell, another shambled forward and began to launch another acidic volley.

He didn't give it the chance, retreating back up the driveway as he continued spraying them with gunfire. The two men backed up to the front door, only to find it shut and locked.

"Shit!" Cann shouted. He reloaded his pistol and kept up his rate of fire. "Now what?!"

"Run!" Trent yelled. More of them were coming. Easily twenty contacts filled up Trent's motion tracker screen. There appeared to be a hole in their ranks. Trent and Cann broke for it, hopping a fence that curved around the sidewalk leading up to the front porch. They booked it across the front lawn. As they reached the street, Trent primed and tossed a frag grenade over his shoulder. The resulting explosion sent an Armless Man flying over his head. It landed with a dull thud three meters ahead of him and began to rise again.

Trent broke and ran full tilt down the street, away from the writhing mass of dead flesh. For several moments, there was nothing but the running. He dodged into an alleyway when he spied even more contacts directly ahead. He raced down the alleyway, reloading, and finally came to a halt. Breathing heavily, he finished reloading.

"Holy shit, man, that was close," he muttered. Silence was his only response. "Cann?" He looked around. He was alone. "Shit." He looked around, studying the area he was in. At least his motion tracker was silent.

"Cann!?" he called, then regretted it. A low, howling moan answered him, echoing across the cold streets of the dead city. At least his radio wasn't squealing anymore. But it was silent now, Cann didn't say anything if he'd heard either over the radio or otherwise. There was a door ahead and to the left, it was closed but looked inviting. Trent shivered slightly. He had his heating elements up all the way now but still he was cold.

He approached the door and opened it. He was admitted to a low-ceiling room packed with inert machinery. Trent stood in the doorway for several seconds, considering his options. Something made an odd groaning sound nearby, in the alleyway. Trent hurried into the room and shut the door behind him. With great trepidation, he began to explore the building he was in. Right away, he could tell it was a factory of some kind.

Whatever was produced here, he couldn't fathom a guess. The machinery looked alien and rusted out, as though it had been laid to rest decades ago. The area was dark, lit only by the dim light that filtered through the dusty, cracked windows along the walls. The machinery was filed into lines, creating narrow, uncomfortable alcoves. Trent began to make his way through the maze, constantly on the lookout for more of the Armless Men.

His mind was racing. For years, he'd fought bad guys. He remembered when he spotted his first Covenant. It was an Elite, and it was terrifying. He'd grown up knowing that aliens existed, that we were not alone in the galaxy. He'd seen vids and pictures, but facing one down on the battlefield, in real time and real life, was a whole other thing. He also remembered seeing his first Flood in Voi. It had been a truly nightmarish experience.

And then there was Slender and Jason. Both of them alien and otherworldly in very different ways. This...was different. He wasn't entirely certain how, only that he felt it in his gut. This was a new kind of horror. The Armless Men...they _looked_ human, if only vaguely, but they permeated a sense of alien otherness, as though they were warping reality simply by existing. Where had they come from? They all looked _exactly alike_, so that ruled out a lot of conventional means. Were they being manufactured somehow?

Could it be some new form of the Flood? No, that wasn't right, because this kind of stuff had been apparently happening here for centuries. But was this, specifically, happening before, or was it a new development? Too many questions, zero answers. Trent tried his radio again while he wandered the factory maze.

After another few moments of wandering through the dim, dusky alcoves, he came to another wall and found a doorway. This one led to a big, broad, open room with slightly better lighting. There were several doors along the far walls, but the floor was empty. Trent's footsteps echoed as he walked a few meters into the broad room.

He began looking around, trying to determine the best way to go. At least he was alone-

"Oh. Shit." His eyes locked onto a perfectly motionless man standing across the room, against the far, right wall. He was cast almost perfectly in shadow, but Trent's VISR picked him up. The man was _enormous_, easily nine feet tall, taller than the tallest Spartan or Elite or even Jason. He was thick and bulky with raw muscle and wore a black, loose cloth that covered most of his body. A black cloth, almost like a sack, covered his head and was cinched tight around his neck, which bulged with muscle and veins.

He was standing at attention. He held a gigantic ax, head pointed up, arms extended, fists wrapped around the metal pole that supported the head, just below it. He stood so stock-still, not even breathing, that Trent felt positive that it was some kind of strange statue. Then, abruptly, the arms shifted, the ax head dropped forward, slamming heavily into the ground with an echoing _thud_. The gigantic man, what Trent found himself thinking of as an old-school Executioner, began to walk towards him. The Executioner dragged the titanic ax behind him as he stalked. It made a horrible screeching sound as it was dragged across the floor.

"Shit!" Trent screamed, opening fire. The bullets slammed into the broad chest of the Executioner and had seemingly no effect. He kept coming. As Trent reloaded, he noticed two small but incredibly strange details about this enormous man: the first was that the rope cinching the bag around his neck was in fact a noose, the second was that both of the man's wrists were slit, vertically, and crusted with long-dried black blood.

Trent emptied a second clip into the titanic monster and, when that had equally no effect, he ran towards one of the nearby doors.


	63. Part VIII: Entering Isolation

**Chapter 63  
><strong>_-Entering Isolation-_

Trent realized he was shaking as he pounded down the abandoned stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. He kept glancing over his shoulder to see if the monstrous Executioner was following him, but hadn't caught sight of him yet. He could still hear the ominous dragging sound the enormous ax made. Trent reached the bottom of the stairs and was faced with an ancient, decayed manual doorway. He hunted for a keypad to hit before finally grasping the handle and yanking it open. A fog of sewer reek slid in through his suit vents.

He coughed and closed them, hurrying into the dank tunnel beyond and slamming the door shut behind him. He waited there for several seconds, stifling his coughing fit as his suits oxygen tank kicked on. He strained his ears against the silence, listening. But the footsteps and the dragging noise had ceased. He was alone. Trent took a deep breath and let it out, as much to enjoy the fresh oxygen as to calm himself.

Trent surveyed his surroundings. He was in a filthy, poorly-lit sewage tunnel that extended away from him in both directions. One way looked just as good as the other, so he broke left and began jogging along the metal pathway that ran alongside the trench that sluiced raw sewage from one area to another. As he went, he began to wonder why this was here. A sewage system this basic was something that would be seen hundreds of years ago or in a very, very poor colony. Presently, the level of technology afforded a vastly improved sewage management system.

He tried not to think about it as he hurried down the tunnel, eager to put distance between himself and the Executioner. His mind wandered while he jogged, eventually slowing to a walk. Didn't want to use up too much of his oxygen. What he had seen so far, the Armless Men and the Executioner...it threw a lot of things out the window. Information was critical. A good intel briefing could make or break any op.

But the kind of ops Trent was often dropped into were typically notorious for being low on intel, high on 'make it up as you go along'. He'd honed himself to that, attempting to adapt a skill-set that allowed for survival in unknown situations. He now knew, or at least took Childs' word at face value, that part of his survival was due to actual, physical luck. He made a mental note to grill Childs for more information on that.

So far, Trent had survived, and without too many life-threatening wounds. He had some scars, most of them healed up or were surgically removed, but some he left on purpose. A reminder. And, on top of that, women loved scars. He'd faced down some pretty shitty situations...but _this_, this was absolutely nuts. Beyond the pale of any of the others. Everything was wrong in Silent Hill. It wasn't just the monsters or the mist, it was little things, like the sign about the hole in the wall. Or old-school sewage tunnel, the manual style door, the abandoned, decayed feel that everything seemed to have. Little clues that Silent Hill was FUBR.

Trent wasn't entirely confident he was going to get out of this one. No sooner had that thought entered his mind than did something ping his motion tracker. He spun, gun raised: the signal had come from his six o'clock. But he saw nothing, just a lonely stretch of festering tunnel. He stared at the rough approximation of the area where the signal would have originated from, searching the sides of the tunnel, the roof, the sewage...

Right as he was beginning to turn back, something shifted in the water. The movement was very distinct: it was something alive. Or at least animate enough to do some damage. Trent swallowed and aimed his gun at the spot where the shift had occurred. He waited another few seconds. There was another shift in the murky water, this time about two feet closer to him. He readjusted and this time let loose a spray of bullets.

Tiny brown geysers issued forth, as well as high-pitched shrieking. Trent leaped back, shocked at the reaction. The water began to bubble and thrash violently. _Something_, long and slender and dripping water, began to rise out of the sewage. Trent decided he'd had enough, turned and ran. He kept an eye on his motion tracker as he bolted: it kept pace with him, almost perfectly. Trent kept going, pushing his suit-supported muscles to their limit and spied a ladder ahead. Grabbing a frag grenade, he pulled the pin and tossed it over his shoulder into the water.

There was a tremendous explosion and several shards of shrapnel pinged off his armor as he reached the ladder and began climbing. Corrupted water sprayed everywhere and an even louder shriek echoed down the waste tunnels. Trent rushed up the leader, grateful that the top was unobstructed. He pulled himself through, turned and slammed the hatch shut, then twisted the valve on the top, securing the hole.

Something roared and began banging against the hatch. Trent backed away, his weapon raised, his hands trembling. The banging continued until, abruptly, it stopped. It was so sudden that Trent began wondering if it had been happening at all. There was no actual damage to the hatch...he shook his head and looked around the room he was in. It was what appeared to be a dark, dirty back storage room. Shelves against the walls, littered with spare parts and old tools. Crates stacked in the corners, looking as though they'd been there for years.

There were small, slit windows that ran the edge of the room, high up on the walls. Trent approached and stood on a crate to stare out. A ground-level view was offered to him through the soot-stained, cracked window. He was peering into some back alley, but he couldn't get any details. Right as he began to get down off the crate, something shuffled past the window. Trent's breath caught in his throat. The malformed, too-pale gray legs stopped. There was an odd, almost snuffling sound, then the legs continued out of sight.

"Shit..." Trent whispered. He took a moment to lean against the wall next to the only door, catch his breath, then reload and get on the radio again.

"Cann...Linda...is _anyone _on this channel? Can anyone hear me?" he whispered. Nothing but faint, warbling static. He sighed, softly, and pulled himself off the wall. Trent opened the door and peered cautiously through it, his gun barrel joining him in the survey. A large, oily, poorly-lit garage awaited his inspection. It was mostly empty, nothing on the floor but curious tar-like stains. Worktables lined the walls, all of them littered with more parts and tools. Trent moved slowly around the garage, exploring it.

He found a couple of offices, a break room, a bathroom...all of them long abandoned. What appeared to be some kind of decay had set in, giving everything a bleak, blackened look. It was in the bathroom that he made a discovery not calculated for a man doubting his own sanity again. He was pushing open the stall doors, not sure of what he'd find, when he came to the last one and gently eased it open with the barrel of his gun.

Trent stared at his own corpse for a long, long time. There he sat, Trent Temple, or Jason DuPree, it looked almost like an amalgamation of both of them. There was a pistol in his hand and a bullet hole, a small, bloody crater, in the side of his head. His eyes, one brown, one blue, were vacant and staring, blood had leaked into them. Trent slowly reached out to touch his body, but hesitated at the last second, his gloved fingertips hovering mere centimeters from cold, pallid flesh. He swallowed and slowly withdrew his hand.

He began blinking, as though doing so might vanquish this mental burden, this visage of insanity. But it remained. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and extracted the bullet. That single bullet he'd kept for years. He stared at it in the palm of his hand, his eyes trailing back and forth between his own corpse and the bullet. Trent was suddenly stricken with the urge to grab that pistol, it was an M6D and the bullet was meant for such a model, load up the bullet and use it on himself. He slowly closed his fist around the bullet.

His radio crackled. His heart leaped and some of the haze seemed to lift. And then,

_"__Trent...I'm breaking up with you."_ Lindsay. Her voice, reaching out to him across years and lightyears. Impossible, and yet it was happening. Trent opened his mouth, but his voice caught in his throat. Lindsay pressed on without remorse.

_"__I just can't take it anymore. You're always so moody, so...closed off. I need something more, Trent. I can't handle this...I'm leaving you for Peter."_ Trent unclenched his fist and the bullet seemed to shine in the dull lighting.

"Do it..." his corpse whispered in a dry voice. It shifted and looked up at him. "Do it...DuPree. You were meant to die there, in that bedroom..." The corpse raised its hand, flipping the pistol around grip first. It offered the gun to Trent.

"I...I can't..." Trent whispered.

"You can," the corpse and Lindsay said in unison. "You can and you must. You were supposed to die when you found your fiancee in bed with your best friend. When you put the cold barrel to your skull, your finger was supposed to tighten slowly around the trigger until the gun fired...you were meant to die..."

"_No_!" Trent screamed. Reality seemed to snap. The corpse was gone in a flash, his radio was silent, he was left alone in a cold, decayed bathroom. Shuddering, Trent stared at the bullet in his hand, then slowly replaced it in its pocket. He swallowed, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then opened up his vents again to stop using his oxygen reserve. He stayed in the bathroom until the shaking stopped.

When he felt back in control again, or at least enough to fake it if need be, he left the bathroom and made for the garage. As he stalked to the main entrance of the garage, he couldn't help but wonder if this was simply a result of being in Silent Hill or...was his insanity coming back? Was he truly cured? _Could_ insanity be cured? He didn't look forward to going back into the machine again, that had been one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do in his entire life. Shaking off these dark notions, trying to focus, Trent opened the door.


	64. Part VIII: Darkness Falls

**Chapter 64  
><strong>_-Darkness Falls-_

Trent found it difficult to push the images, the emotions, from his mind, as he made his way slowly down the mist-shrouded street. It was snowing worse now, a heavy snow that seemed to blanket everything. He kept his eyes and ears open for hostiles, though, and periodically tried to contact the others through his radio. It remained quiet, save for the occasional squeals of static. Trent realized he was reaching that dangerous psychological state where you felt as though you were the only living being in what had been a battlefield situation.

He clamped down on his emotions, his brain, his body, and forced himself to focus. One of those survival skills he'd picked up. There was someone or something around, possibly shadowing him, but nothing was showing up on his motion tracker. He was afraid that it was broken now, somehow. Feeling suddenly exposed, walking down the sidewalk, Trent ducked into the nearest building and did a quick inspection of it.

It was a diner, dark and dusty with the feel of abrupt abandonment staining everything. He felt alone in the diner, so he turned and stared out the windows. He could hardly see anything but the thick gray mist and the swirling snow. Sighing quietly, he eventually turned and began to move through the building. The tables were still covered with tablecloths, silverware still laid out, chairs still tucked in beneath them. Booths lined the walls.

Overhead, the lights were on, but several of them flickered, others were dead and the most stable of them were very dim. At the back of the diner was the counter that divided the dining area from the kitchen. Trent moved back behind it and began poking through the kitchen. He suddenly realized he was starving. How long had it been since his last meal? He thought of the eleven hours of sleep, of the morphine.

He wanted more.

There was nothing in the kitchen, so Trent moved back to the main dining area. That's when he saw it, a ghost of a signal on his motion tracker and dark movement off his peripheral. He slunk up to the windows, stared out at a fleeting figure walking away from the diner, what appeared to be someone in familiar black armor. Trent hurried out of the diner, began to shadow the mysterious figure. He drew closer, pushing his VISR to its limit to focus through the fog and give him a good image. He caught one, brief glimpse.

It was a man in black armor with no markings. He worked for the same assholes from the derelict Forerunner ship, Trent was positive of it. He gripped his weapon a little tighter. The man was making his way away, his movements nervous and apprehensive. Trent raised his SMG, and was abruptly sidetracked by a burst of static, followed by,

_"__-an anyone hear me, I repeat, this is Specialist Cannioto, can anyone hear me?"_ Trent issued a very soft curse and broke off his pursuit, ducking into an alleyway.

"Cann, I got you. Where are you?"

_"__Trent? Oh thank God! I've been alone ever since I lost you at the house...what's your pos-" _The transmission abruptly died off into a haze of static. Trent began to try and raise Cann again, when a loud, ominous siren began to sound, echoing across the town. Trent swallowed, terror shooting through his veins, as reality itself seem to start slowly vibrating. The siren continued to sound, long and loud, vibrating his bones.

"Cann?" he whispered.

Darkness began to spill across everything. It slid down walls, enveloped buildings, blotted out the sun itself. It was everywhere. Trent saw a doorway nearby and slipped carefully into it. There were things in the darkness, his radio was hissing at him, warning him of hostiles. The door led to a small convenience store. Trent hurried cautiously to the most isolated location: behind the counter. He ducked down, waiting for it to be over.

The siren opened up something deep inside of him, something from primal days where fire was a new thing and anything could be out there at night. A dark, base fear swelled with him and he felt threatened at his lowest levels. Over and over the siren echoed, washing across the dark, lonely streets and the abandoned, forsaken buildings. Finally, it died away, slowly losing decibels until there was nothing left but a faint vibration.

Just as Trent began to relax, an impossibly loud roar tore across the city with the power of a supernova, rattling the windows and jolting a fresh wave of pure terror through Trent's body. He realized he was shaking again, trembling with raw fear, and worked hard to get himself under control. While he was dealing with this, there was a loud _ding_, the sound of the front door opening. Trent saw nothing on his motion tracker.

He swallowed and gripped his SMG tighter as the door closed and dinged again, then again, then twice more. He could hear...something, several somethings, moving around just beyond the counter he was hiding behind. That odd snuffing sound again, only this time it was multiplied. Trent swallowed his fear and shot to his feet. He stared over the counter at five..._things_, milling about in the convenience store, knocking things over.

They all stopped and looked directly at him. They were little more than an oddly shaped body supported by two legs. Their skin was gray and cracking, the cracks were dark in color. The 'face' was little more than a blunt tube of flesh that ended in a black hole, presumably an eye. The back of each 'head' featured a double-pointed fin. They were short, hardly more than three feet tall, and their feet ended in stunted toes.

One of them, the closest to Trent, began to vibrate. It let out a low moan. Trent had had enough, he shouldered his SMG and opened fire, spraying the crowd. His clip was depleted and when he was finished, all that was left was a dry clicking sound and five smoking corpses, as well as several sprays and pools of pitch black blood.

Trembling slightly, Trent reloaded. He came from around the counter, poking one of the bodies with his toe. What _were_ these things? Trent was still staring at them when the back wall of the store, which featured a row of clear but frosted doors for the freezer section, literally exploded. Trent spun, weapon raised, only to stare in horror as the Executioner burst through the remains of the doors, dragging that enormous ax.

He was already walking towards Trent, slow, ceaseless, unstoppable. He dragged the blood-stained ax through the remains of the wall and frozen dinner packets. Trent felt a scream freeze in his throat, turned and ran out of the store. He'd made it roughly ten feet before the front doors burst open, ripped from their moorings, to admit the Executioner. Trent glanced over his shoulder, staring in terror at the enormous, dark-clothed man.

"Step aside." Trent spun back and saw that an enormous woman wrapped in black armor had stepped out from somewhere. She now stood in front of him, a rocket launcher on her shoulder. Trent stepped aside. The rocket was loosed from its dark nest with a _foomph_! The rocket struck the Executioner directly in the chest, engulfing him in flame. Trent retreated from the dark, billowing cloud of smoke to stand next to Linda.

"What the hell was that thing?" she asked, abandoning the launcher. She notices Trent's gaze. "That was my last rocket and I can't imagine there are anymore just lying around. This isn't one of the Halos."

"That thing, it was-oh shit." The Executioner walked out of the cloud, apparently unharmed by the rocket.

"You gotta be shitting me," Linda growled, grabbing for her shotgun.

"Run!" Linda hesitated, but only briefly, before joining Trent. They made tracks down the road, disappearing into an alleyway. Linda took the lead and Trent followed her. They burst back out onto another road, raced across it and slipped in through the front of another building. Trent spun and closed the doors, locking them to the best of his ability. When he turned back around, he saw Linda scouting out the area. They were in a lobby of sorts, a waiting room, and Trent quickly recognized the place as a hospital.

"Come on," Linda said, making for double doors across the room. Trent hurried to follow her.

"What happened? Where's your squad?" They passed through the double doors, coming to a lengthy corridor, the walls lined with doors. Trent shifted uneasily.

"Dead or gone...not sure. We hit dirt and were picked off one by one by these acid-spitting bastards. We had to retreat...got separated...I've been wandering around ever since, trying to find a tall enough building or another survivor. I trust you're the backup?"

"Yeah. Me and Cann-"

"Shh! Did you hear that?" She froze up and so did Trent.

"No," Trent murmured, staring around. Finally, after several moments, Linda shrugged and was walking again. Trent followed. "Myself and Specialist Cannioto were sent to offer you back up but...we got separated, too. I received a transmission from him just about ten minutes ago, but it was cut off when that darkness started spreading..."

"That stuff...I've never seen anything like it before," Linda murmured. They found a stairwell and began to go up it. Linda went first, and Trent found her, despite all that had happened, or perhaps because of all that had happened, a pleasant distraction.

"Name's Trent Temple, by the way. I was tailing a guy in black armor..."

"Yes. The mystery men. I've been seeing them crop up more and more over the past month. I think Childs knows about them, but he's not letting anything slip."

"Do you know who they are?" They reached the next story, kept going.

"No. I can honestly say I don't. Only that they're well-armed, well-funded and well-informed. They seem to be at a lot of our mission sites, and I don't like it...anyway, I managed to get my hands on a signal booster before we dropped in. State of the art, Human-Elite co-design, I just need to find a tall enough building to cut through the soup."

"If it's so state of the art, why does it need height?"

"Normally, it wouldn't. Just _having_ it should've been enough. But this place is...different." They reached the next floor and passed it, then came to the final, fourth floor. The stairwell ceased, forcing them back out into the hospital. The corridor seemed lengthier than it should have rightly been. The doors along the walls were closed. The pair slowly began to make their way down it. Trent could feel something building on the air, something wretched.

Then it happened. All of the doors opened at once. Women, or twisted caricatures of such, wrapped in revealing nurses outfits, writhed and lurched out of the doors. They twisted and swayed, in their hands they held scalpels or needles or other surgical tools. Their faces...there were no faces, at least not regular human faces.

"Aw shit," Linda growled, raising her shotgun. She opened fire, blowing the head clean off the nearest Nurse. A cacophony of shrieks sounded, the women began stumbling towards them, and the battle was on.

Black blood rained and gun-smoke filled the air as the pair of warriors fought back to back. Trent emptied the last clip in his SMG, taking headshots as often as he could in quick sprays. When the gun was dry, he let it hang by its sling and pulled out his pistol. He emptied it, cleared a space, reloaded, then emptied it again.

"Out!" he called. Still the Nurses came, stumbling, crawling over the corpses of their own. Trent ripped out his combat knife and drove it hilt deep into the neck of the nearest Nurse, then ripped it out in a vicious spray of black blood. Her head became lopsided and she collapsed to the ground. Trent quickly punched the next one in the face, feeling cartilage crack beneath his armored fist, as he drove the blade into the face of a third Nurse.

More blood sprayed, ran like black oily water and stained everything. By the time the last Nurse fell, Trent's chest was heaving, his armor was dripping the blood. He heard a sound and spun around, blackened, dripping knife raised high, and saw Linda standing there, staring at him. Her visor was transparent now, flecked with black blood, and she was smiling at him, shotgun propped against her shoulder.

"Christ, Temple. Been a while since I've seen a man that can keep up with me wasn't a Spartan," she said. "Now you've got me all hot and bothered." She smirked wider, then made her visor opaque, turned and began walking. Trent wasn't sure what to make of that, so he just wiped his blade off to the best of his ability and re-sheathed it. They hurried through a sea of corpses and found the final stairwell, making their way up it.

"Got any more bullets?" Trent asked as they came onto the roof. Linda passed him a pair of magazines for his pistol. He reloaded and pocketed the spare clip.

"Shit outta luck otherwise," she said as she pulled something out of her pocket and began to fiddle with it. Trent walked to the edge of the hospital roof and looked down over the side. He could see parts of the city through the mist, the snow and the darkness.

"You ever miss the simple days?" he asked after a moment.

"Simple days?"

"You know, back when all we fought were the Covenant and the Flood and the occasional rebel? Back when...you know...Halo was still a big thing? The Halo days, yeah..."

"The Halo days? Not really, Trent. I fought the Covenant for years...sick of that shit. I've had my fill of the Covenant and the Flood. You know, there's more to the galaxy than the Covenant and the Flood, Trent. We can't just keep fighting the same bad guys over and over again."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Linda kept working with the booster and Trent tried hard not to glance at her armored, though form-fitting, backside. Finally, she made a happy noise and began calling out onto her radio. Trent heard her twice, through his radio and from her proximity, which he counted as a good sign. Abruptly, there was a response.

_"__Yeah, you got me, Linda. This is Cannioto. I've managed to find some of your boys...they say that they're all that's left. Where are you? Is Trent with you?"_

"Yes, he is. We're on top of the hospital. Can you get to the lobby? Meet us there?"

_"__Uh...yeah, we think so. It's hard to navigate in all this shit, but not impossible. We should be there in roughly...ten minutes. Provided we don't come across anymore detours on the way up. Over and out."_

"Alright, let's get back downstairs," Linda said, replacing the booster in her pocket. They cautiously worked their way back into the building and across the sea of bodies again. Only one of them was playing possum. She grabbed Trent's ankle abruptly and he managed not to scream, instead opting to put a bullet in her head. Linda said nothing and continued on. Trent followed. Soon, they were back down in the lobby.

It was only just beginning to get awkward when Cann led three other dark-suited ODSTs in through the front room. After they secured the area, there were quick introductions. What remained of Linda's squad was: Sergeant Powell, a grim, silent man who looked like a dozen other hard-bitten veterans Trent had come across in his career; Corporal Stolls had a goofy grin, bright eyes that flared when he laughed and the nervous tendencies of a technician; Lance Corporal Peltola held a sniper rifle, didn't have much to say and seemed to be very uncertain of his surroundings. Trent figured they must be pretty hardcore to have survived this far.

"So...we were hunting a group of our armored friends when you called. We got a plan for this?" Cann asked.

"Yeah. I say we go after them," Linda replied. Stolls and Peltola looked uncertain, but Powell seemed solid. Linda glanced at Trent. "What do you think?"

"I agree. I want some goddamned answers."

"Alright, let's go."


	65. Part VIII: Black

**Chapter 65  
><strong>_-Black-_

Silent Hill was as grim and silent as ever. The mist and the snow had ceased completely. Now, everything was wreathed in a living darkness. It clung to the buildings, hung low from the skies and seemed to seep from the air itself. Visibility was limited, even with the VISR pushed to its maximum setting, Trent couldn't see more than ten feet in front of him. There were sounds in the darkness, and figures lurking at the edges of peripheral vision, living shadows that seemed to writhe when Trent wasn't paying attention.

Comms were dead, save for a faint, soft, constant hiss of static. The motion tracker showed nothing, not even the others as they began a slow walk out of the hospital and down the street. Trent was silent, the situation taking the whole of his attention. The others moved slowly around him. He hated this situation. The technology he had relied so heavily upon was now failing him and all he had for a plan was 'wander around until you find someone, then grab them and beat some information out of them'.

As far as plans went, it was pretty shitty. It felt good not to be alone anymore, though. Having Cann back and Linda and some good, old-fashioned ODSTs to watch his ass in a firefight was more reassuring than any piece of technology could be. He'd managed to scavenge some ammo for his silenced SMG from the three survivors, for which he was grateful. All around him, the darkness seethed and shifted.

Buildings, abandoned vehicles and landmarks rose and fell in the obsidian abyss. Everyone had their lights on, shoulder-mounted and those mounted on the ends of weapons. But the pale beams of light did little to push back the surrounding darkness. Trent was on point, leading with Cann, while Linda and the others covered their backs. They stalked slowly down a sidewalk, past broken-out windows of storefronts.

Right as Trent began to mutter to Cann that his combat senses were telling him there was something dead ahead, his comms unit began crackling and spitting static. His muscles tensed as a tremor of apprehension shot through his body. They slowed to a halt, the static growing worse as they came closer to whatever it was. Something appeared out of the darkness. An unmoving figure was rooted to the sidewalk.

At first, Trent thought it was a person...only he immediately threw that notion out the window as he realized its proportions were all wrong. There appeared to be a pair of legs, and a torso...but no arms, no head. There were another pair of legs sprouting from the mid-chest area, pointing straight up. Trent felt his skin crawl, staring at this thing that was almost human...and yet so utterly, completely inhuman.

"What the _hell_ is that?" Cann whispered, his voice gripped with terror. The upper legs suddenly twitched, a disturbingly quick movement, almost like an insect. Trent raised his SMG. His radio went crazy. The thing, what Trent realized looked like a store mannequin, sprang into motion. It took several rapid, swaying steps towards him. He cried out and squeezed the trigger, his bullets joined by Cann's own pistol.

The rounds blew bloody holes in the plastic flesh of the new beast, spraying black oily blood in several directions. The thing fell to the ground, twitching.

"What is _wrong_ with this place?" Stolls asked, his voice a quiet growl. Distantly, Trent could hear the sound of something scraping against the ground, something being dragged. He shuddered. Suddenly, he heard something else.

Gunfire.

Trent and Cann exchanged glances, then took off. The others followed wordlessly. They plunged into an alleyway, playing it by ear as they moved through the shifting darkness. A few moments later they came out of the alleyway into an almost identical street, only this one had a bit more visibility.

Trent immediately spotted a pair of black-clad warriors with shotguns fending off another fresh terror. They were nightmares given flesh, visages of terror. They flew, mutant dinosaur birds with a great wingspan, flesh the color of rotted meat and the body of a human. Eyes, like dying stars, glowered down at the two surviving soldiers. As Trent watched, one of the half-dozen of the shrieking beasts that were circling overhead, dodging bullets, swooped down and latched onto the helmeted head of one of the survivors.

There was a brief scream and an awful ripping sound as the thing tore the man's head off, helmet and all. Trent and the others hurried to rescue the single survivor. They rushed onto the scene, firing into the air, blowing holes in the surviving creatures and making short work of them. The man in black armor initially paid them no attention, probably mistaking them for backup. But as the last creature fell, he turned to look at them, then ran.

Trent shot him casually through the leg. The man tripped and fell screaming to the ground. His shotgun flew from his hand. He started to crawl away from them as the squad approached him. When they came within range, he suddenly rolled over and grabbed for the pistol on his hip. Linda shot the gun out of his hand. He cried out again. Trent looked around and spotted a nearby apartment building. He pointed it out to the others.

Stolls and Powell knelt and grabbed the man after making sure he didn't have anymore surprises on him. The solider began shouting at them, cursing and threatening them. The squad paid him no attention, dragging him and leaving a bloody trail as they did, to the apartment building. Trent and Cann went in first, weapons free, and cleared the lobby. Everything was cast in gloom, saturated in abysmal darkness.

Once they secured the area, everyone else came in. Peltola flicked on the lights. They sparked, guttered and went out, then reluctantly came back to life. Even with the overhead lights on, the lobby was still surrounded by deep shadows. The pair of ODSTs dropped the soldier in the center of the lobby, then guarded the front door. Cann covered the rear exit while Peltola made a slow circuit of the room, checking the windows.

Linda stood with Trent over the wounded solider, they stared down at him from behind opaque visors. He had his hands wrapped around his wounded leg and he glared up at them, his visor transparent. Trent knelt down and began to unlatch his helmet. The man protested weakly and tried to stop him, but Trent pushed his hands away and tore his helmet off, throwing it aside. The man was thin and pale from blood loss. He had a shaved head and sharp green eyes that flared with anger.

"Who are you?" Trent asked. "Who do you work for and what are you doing here?" The man spat onto Trent's visor. Trent sighed quietly and reached down. He punched the man's wounded leg, right on the bloody hole. The man's features twisted and he bit back a scream.

"Same questions as before," Trent said calmly. Linda grabbed her knife and pulled it out. She began playing it it, tossing it up into a spin and catching it in a surprising display of dexterity. The man's eyes shifted to the knife and began following it.

"I'm not telling you anything," he said, but he sounded uncertain.

"You're losing a fair amount of blood. You'll pass out soon. You won't wake up," Trent replied. The man shook his head. Trent punched him, hard, and felt his nose crack under the impact. The man cried out and the ODSTs shifted uncomfortably, watching the display. The man groaned, his nose ruined, blood leaking out of it like a broken faucet. He spit in a spray of blood that flecked across his armored chest.

"I'm not telling you anything. You'll just have to kill me." Trent hesitated, briefly. Who could this guy possibly be working for that he felt the need to show this level of loyalty? Trent knelt down into a low crouch. Wordlessly, he reached up. Linda placed the knife in his hand. One of the ODSTs cleared their throat.

"Watch the perimeter!" Linda snapped at them. They reluctantly returned to their posts, shifting their eyes out and away. Trent lowered the knife towards the man's face. He hadn't asked for this. He'd never been any good at interrogations. Trouble came to him in big, dark swarms. Trent opened his mouth to speak, the knife point hovering over the man's eye, which was focused wholly on it, when suddenly the man rammed his head up. Trent cried out in surprise as the knife penetrated his eye and skull and he died instantly.

"Holy shit!" Cann cried.

"Jesus," Linda muttered. Trent let go of the knife slowly and remained crouched, staring at the fresh corpse and the blood leaking out of the ruined eye. Finally, Trent stood up. He felt at a loss. Sighing quietly, he popped his neck and looked around.

"So, anyone got any ideas?" he asked. Linda moved forward without speaking. She crouched and grabbed the discarded helmet. Trent watched as she fiddled with it for several seconds, eventually extracting the comms unit from within. She discarded the helmet and continued messing with the comms unit. Finally, she seemed satisfied.

"They're on a private channel. Everyone tune your secondary, incoming-only channels to thirty seven delta," she said. Trent nodded and did just that. A babble of voices suddenly filled his ear. Some were shouting with the thrill of combat, others were reporting in with facts and figures, others were giving orders. This was their general comms frequency. The team began to listen in, attempting to filter out some kind of rhyme or reason from the men, trying to discern their true nature and the reason they were in Silent Hill.

The first thing that stuck out to Trent was the ranks. They used traditional ranks. Were they ex-military, paramilitary, or just posers? They sounded professional enough, most of the voices had that edge that only seasoned, battle-hardened veterans managed. From the number of voices, it sounded like an extensive operation. He heard lots of references to specimens and containment, and to the local town hall, which they switched between referring to as the town hall and headquarters. After a few minutes of this, Trent felt satisfied.

"Alright, we know where they are and we've got an idea of what they're doing...I say we break in, steal some information, then crash their party," Trent said. Linda and Cann gave enthusiastic replies of agreement, while the ODSTs merely nodded.

As Trent led them out into the darkness, the image of the soldier shoving his own eye onto the knife lingered in his mind.


	66. Part VIII: Assault

**Chapter 66  
><strong>_-Assault-_

Trent was leading his team in a tight formation down a confused network of alleyways. They had all seen a map of Silent Hill, and they all knew where Town Hall was, but Trent kept getting lost. It was almost as though the town itself was changing, shifting into something else. At one point, they had attempted to cross a street only to come up to an enormous trench cut directly into the earth, right down the road.

Staring down it, Trent hadn't seen a bottom to it. There was no way to get across it, and they had walked along it for a long way before being forced to try and find an alternate route. Hence, the alleyways. Trent had been trying to raise Childs for a while now, but it seemed like communications were dead in Silent Hill. What was worse, his motion tracker appeared to be completely dead at this point.

A ghostly whisper of movement off of his peripheral caused Trent to raise his fist and freeze up. Behind him, the others stopped, weapons raised. He stared down a blackened alleyway, his flashlight pushing back the darkness only so much. It revealed a boot on the ground, toe-up, as though it was connected to a body.

"Cover me," Trent muttered as he began to creep slowly into the alleyway. Around him, the light reflected dully off of a few fogged windows. A corpse was revealed by the pale flashlight. The beam began to flicker. Trent sighed and tapped the muzzle-mounted flashlight. The corpse was that of an ODST. The ugly wound that had killed him was in his gut. He'd bled out long ago and this corpse felt...old, almost, as though it had been resting here a while.

Trent knelt before it, his flashlight still flickering. He stared at the body. There was something almost familiar about it. Slowly, he began to reach for the helmet, to take it off. Abruptly, the flashlight died, plunging him in darkness.

"Trent, what's going on in there?" Linda called.

"Give me a minute," Trent replied, trying to keep his breathing under control. He hit the flashlight a few more times. Abruptly, it flared back to life. He let out a sigh of relief, then turned his attention back to the corpse.

He gasped. The visor had gone transparent, revealing the cold, dead face of Paulson. He was staring direct at Trent, his eyes boring into Trent's. With a terrifying speed, Paulson suddenly reached forward and grabbed Trent's wrist.

"It's dark here, Trent..." he croaked. "Here...the birds burn..."

"Trent, what's going on back here?" Linda again, her voice right there beside him. He twisted around to stare at her, broken out of his terror for a few seconds, then he glanced back. There was nothing there, just the cold ground. He could still almost feel the pressure on his wrist. Trent took a deep breath and stood back up.

"Nothing. Let's go," he replied curtly, moving past her to rejoin the others. Linda looked around the alleyway for a few seconds before leaving it. They moved in silence after that, hustling through the alleyways. Distantly, Trent could hear the sound of something heavy being dragged across the ground. It echoed across Silent Hill.

As Trent led them out of the alleyway, he paused, dropping into a low crouch once more. The way ahead was much more visible. Crouching near the mouth of the alleyway, the team stared across the street at the Town Hall and the parking lot next to it. The entire area was lit up with powerful work-lights that pressed back the darkness. In the parking lot there was a fury of activity as dozens of black-armored men hustled around.

Some of them patrolled the perimeter, occasionally taking potshots at things that moved uncertainly in the darkness. There were workbenches, fold-out tables and stacks of crates scattered across the immense lot, mixed in with some Pelican dropships and varying types of Warthogs. Trent watched interestedly as he spied a clutch of men unloading a large crate that shuddered occasionally. They loaded it onto a hover-dolly and began to push it towards the Town Hall. Trent listened in on the radio.

He caught snippets of conversation. Some men reported in that there was nothing in this sector, or they had seen movement in that one. Others had miserable conversations about what a terrible assignment this was. Still others were doling out orders. Some were talking about what they'd seen or who they'd lost. And yet...underneath it all, Trent thought he could hear something. A soft, continuous, almost-subliminal whispering.

He tried to focus in on it, tried to determine what the voice was saying, and had almost begun to pick up some kind of meaning when a scream cut through the air. It was so loud and nearby that they heard it in real life and over their radios. Trent watched as everyone moving around in the parking lot froze and turned to look at an area across the way, a place wreathed in darkness. Guns were cocked, the men began to move towards it.

"Get ready guys, this might be our chance to slip in," Trent whispered. Around him, he could sense the others tensing. Trent focused on the area that all the other men were focusing on. For some reason, the light couldn't seem to reach it. In the dead silence that had settled, they began to hear heavy footfalls. Trent felt a primal fear ripple down his spine. Something was coming. He had an idea of what it might be.

The footsteps, heavy and laden with dread, continued for several seconds. Then, they stopped. Seconds ticked by in tense apprehension. Abruptly, a bloody corpse wrapped in black armor flew out of the darkness and hit a group of soldiers, sending them crashing to the ground. And then Trent saw it, and his eyes widened in pure terror.

It wasn't the Executioner.

It was something worse.

It was a man...but not a man. This thing reached easily nine feet in height, possibly taller. It had the body of a man, rippling with raw muscle. It wore a butcher's smock made from dried human flesh that was sprayed with fresh blood. On its head sat an enormous helmet of metal in the shape of a long pyramid. Vents that leaked crimson fumes came up out of the sides of the helmet. It was carrying an enormous sword.

The men opened fire. The bullets seemed to be absorbed by this enormous thing, this...Pyramid Head. And then the guns ran dry and the soldiers hastily began to reload. The pyramid creature raised its blade and took a step forward. It brought the blade up and then swung it, decapitating half a dozen of the soldiers in one go.

Then, almost as if on cue, all of the larger crates spread out across the parking lot abruptly burst open and loosed their dark contents. Creatures, Armless Men and Nurses and Mannequins and other things that Trent had no name for shook off their shackles and fell upon the soldiers. It was chaos. More things, curious shapes, flitted uncertainly around the edges of the light, and Trent knew that it was now or never.

"Go!" he cried. They broke cover and began hurrying across the street. Trent could see a few Pelicans nestled on a second parking lot on the opposite side of the building.

"Cann! Powell! Go secure us a Pelican!" Trent shouted, pointing at the secondary lot. The pair of men nodded and broke away from the main group. Trent hurried up to the Town Hall front entrance, Linda, Peltola and Stolls backing him up. He kicked in the front doors and looked around the lobby, hurrying into it. The place was full of chaos, men in black armor and techs in black jumpsuits running around.

Trent ignored them, hoping that they'd return the favor, and began to make for a door along the back. No such luck. A bullet whizzed past his head. He spun, raised his SMG and stitched a bloody line up the torso of the man who had fired. Linda and the ODSTs didn't give the others a chance. They all opened fire, adding their gunfire to the fray. Visors shattered, blood flew on the air and bodies crashed to the floor.

As Trent emptied his SMG and began to reload, a window across the way burst open and something flew in through it in a spray of glass. Trent had a moment to stare at this new horror. It was an enormous torso, missing legs and wrapped in a black billowing cape. It had huge, pallid arms and a pair of pale, hooded infant heads rested in between the shoulders.

"Holy shit!" Peltola cried, staring at it. The creature was so otherworldly that it distracted the surviving soldiers for several seconds. More of the windows began to burst inwards and they birthed other horrors.

"Go!" Trent shouted as the monsters fell on the soldiers. He led Linda and the others through a door at the far end of the room and closed it behind them. He spied a large crate, probably meant to hold a specimen but empty now, and had Linda help him push it in front of the doorway. Something began banging against the door.

"Come on," Trent said, leading the trio down the large corridor they had come into. They began frantically checking out any of the rooms they came across, finding empty storage chambers or cleared out offices or bloody bathrooms. Occasionally they found and executed a soldier or technician. Trent was beyond trying to pump them for information. He wanted something that couldn't tell you no. He wanted a computer.

With the sounds of the base falling around them, screams and gunfire and explosions and inhuman roars from beyond the pale of madness, the four of them hurried on. After several more minutes, they finally managed to track down the primary computer center. It was located on the second story in a large room that might once have been someone's office. The walls were lined with terminals and banks of monitors. Blood stained the carpet and cracked windows. Most of the screens were dead or dying, stricken with static. Trent hurriedly stepped over the bodies, righted one of the tipped-over swivel chairs and took a seat before one of the terminals.

"Find one that works, see what you can salvage," he called out. Linda guarded the door while the pair of ODSTs began investigating the more promising terminals. It took all of three minutes before Stolls threw up his hands in disgust and declared,

"They wiped it!" Trent sighed. He'd been afraid of that. Another dead end. Now what? He slowly walked to the window and looked down onto the parking lot that had not but ten minutes ago held all kinds of chaos. Now there was nothing but dark death. Most of the lights had been broken, and what few were left on now hung at crazy angles or swayed, turning the area into an awkward sea of shadows.

Curious shapes moved in the shadows, and the Pelicans on that side were long gone. They were evacuating. Trent turned and moved over to the other window in the room, looking down on the secondary lot. He spied Cann standing at the base of the cargo ramp for the single, remaining Pelican, firing at the occasional thing that wandered up to him. A pile of corpses, both human and inhuman, was spread out around him.

Trent tried raising him on the radio, but even at this distance and within line-of-sight, he still couldn't. He prepared to break out the window and simply talk to him when the door to the room, which Linda had closed, exploded open. The Executioner burst into the room, catching Linda's helmet with the end of the handle of his ax. She grunted and fell back several steps, her visor cracking. Trent turned to face the enormous monster.

He froze when the Executioner suddenly raised its arm and extended one finger, pointing directly at Trent and stared at him from behind the cloth that covered its face. A moment of cold silence settled over the room. Slowly, the Executioner curled its hand into a fist. Then it hefted the ax and, with a move of unparalleled speed, raised the blade and brought it around in a tight arc, decapitating Stolls in one, swift motion.

"Stolls!" Peltola screamed as he opened fire with his assault rifle. The Executioner took a few steps forward, absorbing the bullets, and brought the ax down expertly onto the ODSTs helmeted head, cutting him entirely down the middle. Both halves fell away, spraying tremendous amounts of gore. Linda raised her shotgun.

"No! Run!" Trent screamed, rushing by her and grabbing her wrist. They ducked the ax and bolted through the open door. There was nothing left for them in Silent Hill now. The pair ran full tilt down the passageway, the Executioner stalking behind them with his ax. Trent risked a glance over his shoulder and his eyes widened in fear. For something that seemed to move so slow, the Executioner was gaining on him with ridiculous ease.

They reached the stairwell and jumped it, landing with heavy grunts on the next landing, Linda leaving dents in the floor, and then turning and rushing down the final set of stairs. They made for the lobby, hoping that Cann had the damned Pelican ready to go. They passed through the corridor in record time and burst out into the lobby. There were monsters about, but neither Survivor paid them any heed, instead opting to rush past them and hurry through the front doors. They hurried around the side of the building, and Trent had never felt happier seeing a Pelican.

"Hey, what's going on!?" Cann called.

"Run! Get into the ship! Fly us out of here!" Trent screamed as they rushed towards him. Cann turned and disappeared up the ramp without a word. Trent primed and tossed the last of his grenades over his shoulder as he ran. Linda did the same. They reached the ramp as the grenades exploded in a quick succession of sharp thunderclaps, leaping over piles of bodies, and landed heavily, not breaking stride as they hit the ground. The Pelican was already online, ready to go. Trent turned and stared out of the ramp as it began to close and the Pelican started lifting off. Trent began to let out a sigh, then his breath caught in his throat.

As the Pelican took off, the Executioner walked out of the smoke the grenades had caused. It came to a halt, the head tracking the progress of the Pelican. Once again, it raised its hand and pointed directly at Trent. Before it faded from view, it brought its hand back to its neck, then brought its thumb slowly across its neck.

The back ramp finished closing and Trent collapsed into a seat. Linda sat down across from him. She reached up and took off her helmet, setting it in her lap. Trent realized that she was more attractive in real life than she was in holographic form. She reached up and wiped some sweat from her forehead, then popped her neck.

"Close one," she said. Then she looked around. "Hey Cann...what happened to Powell?"

"Armless Man got him," he called back. Linda sighed and shook her head.

"Too many dead," she murmured. She then sat back, put her head against the bulkhead and closed her eyes. Trent decided it was a good idea and did the same, just waiting to be away from Silent Hill for good.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean you can't find them?" Childs was obviously pissed, and Trent was sure he wasn't helping, but dammit, he wanted answers.<p>

"I mean, according to our scans, nobody but you has come out of Silent Hill. Something was playing hell with our sensors just before you showed up, then everything returned to normal." Their Pelican had nestled into the hangar bay of the _Sunstrider_. Childs had been waiting for them. Cann, wiped from his mission, had opted out of conversation and instead wandered out of the hangar, presumably towards his quarters and a stiff drink. Linda hung around with Trent while he spoke with Childs.

"So what did you encounter down there?" Childs asked finally.

"A...a lot. I don't really want to go into detail right now, but suffice to say that you and me need to have a long conversation. We ran into those black armored assholes again." Childs frowned at that, staring hard at Trent.

"This is bad news, Trent...well, listen, for the moment, we've got nothing immediately pressing. Take a break." Childs abruptly broke off, turned and began walking out of the hangar.

"Well, that was odd," Trent murmured. Linda came to stand next to him, her helmet still off, watching Childs go. Trent glanced over at her as casually as he could manage. She stood a full foot taller than him. Trent knew that she had to be in forties by now, but she could have easily passed for somewhere in her twenties. Her face was still smooth and unlined, her eyes green and sharp, her red hair cut short and pulled into a rough, tight ponytail. Melissa's words of how easy sex should come to Trent flashed through his mind.

"So, Linda..." he began. She looked over at him, very suddenly, and cut him off.

"Wanna have sex?" Trent's mouth had been open and it stayed that way while he attempted to come up with an adequate response.

"...yes."


	67. Part IX: Into the Void

_**Part IX: Horror Evolved**_

**Chapter 67  
><strong>_-Into the Void-_

Trent was given two days to relax after his encounter in Silent Hill. He spent the majority of it in his bedroom with Linda. Dawn of the second day found him alone in his bed. He came awake in the darkness, rolled over and instinctively reached for her warm, smooth skin. But his hand touched cloth. Her side of the bed was empty, and cold. She had gone for a while. Trent opened his eyes and sat up, looking around his bedroom.

He felt alone and cold, and a strong sense of loneliness permeated through his being. Trent pulled the blankets back, stood and hit the lights. He sat back down, rubbing his eyes and trying to throw off the sense of isolation. The sex with Linda had been good. She was in the best shape of any of the women he'd slept with, by a long shot. He'd been intimated by her at first, and rightly so: the downside to being in such good shape meant that she had unreasonable amounts of stamina. But she had been willing, eager even, to return to the bed after each session.

The result left him exhausted, his muscles sore, and with a vow to work out on a more regular basis from now on. But she was gone. Where? Childs had been silent for those two days, and Trent was fine with that. Silent Hill had left him drained, and after the shit he'd gone through down there, he just wanted to stop thinking. But now it looked like that was over. Unless he might be able to talk one of the women onboard into his bed.

Trent stood and moved to the bathroom. He was still naked, so he turned on the shower hot as he could stand it and slipped in. Childs hadn't said anything to Trent, Linda or Cann about future missions. At least as far as Trent knew. But Childs seemed to want to drive a wedge between the Survivors in terms of information. He knew Cann really couldn't give less of a shit about that if he tried, but Linda was a Spartan...he could easily envision her withholding information from him about an upcoming assignment if Childs had told her to.

Trent finished up the shower, then buzzed his head and his face. He'd given up full-on shaving when he realized that women liked him more with a dusting of stubble as opposed to freshly-shaven. He didn't really care what he looked like, but some part of him still enjoyed being considered attractive. It was something he was still getting used to. He finished up, then stepped out into his bedroom and pulled on one of the many black ONI uniforms Childs had given him. As he made for the door, Trent hesitated.

His eyes drifted back to the medical kit hanging off his wall. He lingered for a moment before crossing the room and pulling the kit off the wall. He set it down on the dresser, unzipped it and carefully extracted the small bottle of pills held within. Trent hated needles, and he'd finally managed to get his hands on the pill form of the adrenal stimulators. They were almost as effective as the needles. Now, if he could just do the same for the morphine...he sighed and dry-swallowed a pair of the little yellow pills.

As he stepped out into the brightly-lit corridor beyond his quarters, he could already feel the pills going to work. Energy flowed through his system. Trent smiled and patted the little bottle of pills, which he'd slipped into his pocket. They made him feel a little better, but cold loneliness still ached somewhere deep inside.

Trent made his way through the ship, passing a handful of personnel along the way, who all nodded to him, seeming to have no time or inclination to stop and speak. So he just nodded back to them, eventually working his way to Childs' living quarters. He began to hit the door chime when the door suddenly opened. Childs nearly bumped into him, his eyes distant and distracted. Trent stepped aside at the last second.

"Trent, good. Something's come up," he said, turning and making his way deeper into the ship. Trent followed.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes. We're making one stop before heading out to investigate. I'm going to need you to be sharp for this one."

"What is it?"

"I hate repeating myself. I'll tell you once we pick up your friend."

"Someone I know?"

"Yes."

"Alright...what happened to Linda? And Cann?"

"We had to drop them off for new missions." They reached the end of the corridor, hooked a right and kept going. Trent kept pace with Childs, who looked more distracted than ever.

"Be nice if you'd have told me," he replied.

"What difference would it have made?" Trent sighed and fell silent. They finally came to an airlock. As they waited for whoever it was to come through the airlock, something suddenly occurred to Trent.

"Childs...it seems to me that our trips through slipspace have been unusually short. What's the story?" Childs grinned smugly.

"Finally picked up on that, did you? Well, granted, the jumps we've been making haven't exactly been _too_ far apart, but our slipspace engine is of a brand new Elite-Human design. Fastest one yet. We're working on a better design as we speak, actually..." Childs looked as though he wanted to say more, but fell silent as the various sharp sounds of an airlock running through its cycle began to sound. Trent stared expectantly at the closed door. He hoped it was Enzo. He missed Enzo. It felt like it had been too long since their last reunion.

Finally, the airlock opened to admit Eric Staccato. The man was holding a slender steel briefcase and smiled easily at Trent, offering him his hand. Trent shook it and studied Eric a little more closely this time around. There was something familiar about the man, something beyond the sheer fact that they'd served on a pair of missions together. It wasn't that he was a Survivor, that much was obvious, no...it was something else.

Something in his eyes.

"Now, gentlemen, off we go to the Briefing Room," Childs said, turning and leading them out of the airlock. As they walked, Trent nudged Eric.

"What's in the case?" he asked.

"Oh this? My own personal computer. Top-of-the-line, state-of-the-art, custom built. I built this thing from the ground up with a lot of different pieces. It's got a lot of sentimental value, too," Eric replied.

"Really? How so?"

"I built the exterior casing out of metal I recovered from Reach. I was there when the shit went down...lost a lot of friends there..."

"Man, that sucks."

"Yeah, tell me about it." They reached the briefing room and settled into their chairs as Childs fiddled with the holographic controls. A few moments later, he finally had it ready and dimmed the lights. As he sat, a holographic image of a ship leapt into view.

"Gentlemen. This is your primary objective. Presently, we have no name for it. It has no ID signal, no registration. The make and model are unfamiliar to us, though it is obviously Human in origin and design. We believe it belongs to the mystery men that had been shadowing our organization for the past month or so. The men in black armor. We've been doing a thorough investigation into them and I think we may, finally, have caught our break. This ship is dead in the water. Its engines have stalled and it's truly in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in between the vast gulfs of dead space that separate stars and systems.

"Now, once we made this discovery, the ship that stumbled onto it, a UNSC cruiser, the _Darkwind_, did a cursory investigation. They managed to do a thorough scan. LifeScan was...inconclusive, to say the least. But they _did_ manage to determine that some of the major systems are offline, including the engines and the primary reactor. Life Support is still functional, as well as gravity, oxygen circulation and other critical systems, but they're on a timeline, as the secondary reactor was never meant to handle all of it for long.

"Now, I had the ship send over a cursory investigatory team. They never reported back. After a second team was sent with similar results, the Captain of the ship was obviously very reluctant to send more. So, to coincide with yours and Eric's involvement, he's preparing a pair of six-man ODST teams for back up. You'll all enter the ship at separate points and bring it back online, stabilize it so that we can set up an area of operation inside the main hangar and investigate just what the hell is going on onboard that ship.

"From the few stray transmissions we've been able to pick up and judging it against everything we've been able to uncover about these bastards, I believe that the ship in question had picked up...something. Some kind of artifact. I don't think it was Forerunner. And...that's about the extent of my knowledge."

There were several seconds of silence.

"Boy, Childs, you sure know how to pick 'em," Eric said finally. Trent snorted.

"Yeah. Seriously. How many blind ops are we going to be thrown into?"

"As many as it takes. This is what you signed up for, gentlemen. It's literally in the job description. Now, any questions?" Neither man had a question, so Childs killed the projector and led them out of the briefing room. They stopped shortly at Eric's quarters so he could drop off his computer, then made for the armory. Trent found his armor set up there, repaired and freshly polished. He began to pull himself into it.

"You know Childs, Linda mentioned something about upgrades that had been built into her suit, suggested that maybe I should get some for myself. I mean, you've got ONI R & D at your beck and call, right?"

"Who's Linda?" Eric asked, pulling his own armor on.

"Never you mind that, Eric. While I wouldn't put it that way...I _do_ have access to certain projects, experiments, research and the like. What did you have in mind?"

"I'm not a hundred percent, really...maybe you should just give me a list of all possible modifications you could have made to this armor and I'll pick and choose what I want."

"I'll see what I can do." Trent set his helmet into place, then began to select his arsenal. He considered the silenced SMG, but then ultimately decided against it. As comfortable, familiar and reliable as it had been...he didn't feel as comforted by it as he had before. Silent Hill had changed him, made him more paranoid. He grabbed an M6G and settled it into the holster on his hip, then grabbed an M90A model shotgun. He loaded down his pockets with spare magazines of ammunition, then some grenades.

"Say, Childs...we need to have a long conversation when I get back from this," Trent said as he finished checking out the shotgun. Childs raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I had some...experiences in Silent Hill that were a little too close to New Mombasa for my liking." At this, Eric glanced over interestedly, but said nothing. Childs frowned, clearly disturbed by this development.

"I see..." he sighed heavily. "If this weren't so urgent, I'd have you checked out right here and now. Dammit, Trent, I wish you'd have told me about it _before_, like at _any_ time over the past two days. If you hadn't been so busy banging Linda-"

"Who's Linda?"

"-never you _mind_ that, Staccato!-then you could've gotten checked out!" He took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. "Do you feel up to the task?"

"I think so."

"Oh what deep levels of confidence that inspires...come on. We're almost there."


	68. Part IX: Dead Echoes

**Chapter 68  
><strong>_-Dead Echoes-_

They dropped out slipspace and settled up comfortably alongside the _Darkwind_. Trent stood with Eric on the bridge of their own vessel. He first looked to his left at the vaguely familiar bulk of the _Darkwind_. He remembered being onboard the ship during his campaign on the Ark, and the eight ODSTs who had lost their lives taking down a lowly Covenant Prophet. He pushed the memories aside, instead opting to focus on what lay ahead.

The nameless ship lay ahead of them, floating in dead space, listing slightly to one side. It was enormous, easily three or four times the size of the _Darkwind_. Childs was right. Trent didn't recognize the make or the model, and the whole thing was painted in a deep obsidian with no obvious identifying markers. It would have almost been invisible against the dark curtain of space, save for the rings of lights that studded its surface.

"There she is...ugly bitch, ain't she?" Childs asked, stepping away from the console he'd been investigating and moving to stand next to them.

"Yes...you actually expect us to go onboard that thing?" Eric asked. Trent had to agree with him. Already, he was getting very bad vibes about the mission. And there was just something about that ship, something that tugged at his combat instincts.

"Yes. And I expect a full report of the situation. Now, Eric, you're the technical genius, so your job will be to get to the bridge, patch into the controls and assess the true extend of the damage. On top of that, you'll be coordinating the pair of ODST tech teams so that you can get the ship in working order that much sooner."

"And what if we encounter resistance? _Something_ stopped those other teams from reporting back," Trent replied. Eric chuckled.

"Maybe they got a better offer." Childs shrugged and tapped Trent's shotgun.

"That's why you have Survivor Status." Trent frowned, but kept his peace. Childs was right. He could handle whatever they could throw at him.

Right?

* * *

><p>They docked with the <em>Darkwind<em>, as Childs was unwilling to commit even one of the few Pelicans aboard the _Sunstrider_ to ferrying them over. Trent didn't argue. He and Eric cycled through the airlock, and were greeted on the other side by a grimly grinning, familiar face.

"Specialist DuP-ah, Temple. Pleasure to meet you again," Sergeant Payton said, grinning from around a lit cigar. Trent froze up, fear lighting in his eyes, but Payton just laughed and offered his hand. Trent shook it uncertainly.

"Relax, Temple. Whatever ONI needs you for...that's their business. All I know is that I saw you fight, even if only for a little while, in New Mombasa, and that was enough for me. Hell, if even half the things they're saying about you are true then you might as well be a Spartan. You remember my team?" He motioned to the group of men standing a little bit deeper into the hangar the airlock opened into.

"Corporal Cooper, Corporal Gallow, Lance Corporal Shepard." Each man nodded in turn as they were introduced. There were a handful of others, but they hadn't been there at the time.

"Yes. I remember you and your team, Sergeant Payton. I have to say, after all the shit I went through in that city...seeing you guys was one of the more heart-warming experiences of my life," Trent replied, relaxing.

"Glad to hear it. Now, I'll be leading a six-man team. Three technicians, two shooters. Well, three, if you include myself. Heh. And, Sergeant Miller over here will be leading a similar six-man team. Same loadout," Payton said, leading Trent and Eric across the hangar to a trio of Pelicans where another group of ODSTs clustered around a portable holographic setup. It presently displayed a slowly rotating image of the ship they were preparing to board.

When Trent saw the man in question, Sergeant Miller, something about the man's face plucked at his memories. He stared at the man for a little while, trying to place his face. Finally, Miller turned away from the holographic image and offered his hand.

"Specialist Temple, pleased to meet you...again," he growled. Trent continued to study the gruff, grizzled ODST. Miller grinned. "I can tell you don't remember me. Hell, I didn't believe Payton when he told me who you were...but don't fret. We only met briefly. I was on that Pelican that picked you up from New Jerusalem. You and me, kid? We're some of the few survivors of that hellhole." Now Trent remembered.

Yes, after that hard run, after his lengthy talk with Gage Yevgenny...Miller had been there, waiting in the back of the last Pelican out of Hell.

"Well, thanks again for pulling my ass out of the fire. I wouldn't be here today otherwise. Now, what is it you're all so interested in?" Trent asked, nodding to the display. They all turned face it.

"This is the _Pandora_, what we've codenamed the ship," Miller replied.

"You don't think that name might be...unlucky?" Eric asked. Miller gave him a hard look.

"I don't believe in luck," he replied bluntly. Trent and Eric grinned at each other and shared a knowing glance. Miller ignored them and pressed on. "All we have are our scans and what little intel the Marine squads managed to send out before they were...silenced. We're going to be inserting into three separate hangars spread out across the ship. After securing the hangars, we will tap into the local network via any nearby terminal we can get our hands on and gain access to a map of the ship. From there, we'll make our way to the bridge, secure it and then assess damage done to the ship. Then we'll begin repairs on the ship. Obviously, you two will be in charge of the situation and we'll follow whatever orders you dictate."

"Glad to hear it," Trent replied. "Now...I know the intel is pretty slim on this op, but as long as we stick together and you keep your fingers on the triggers and your eyes open, we should all come out of this alive." Trent knew he was lying. At this point in his life, he knew that it was likely any non-Survivor thrown into a situation with him likely wasn't going to make it out alive. Which was why, outside of the Survivors, he had stopped making friends. Well...he _did_ consider Mac his friend, and the others at Outpost 31. Trent realized his mind was drifting. He made sure they were loaded up and ready to go, and had everyone do comms checks before they loaded up onto the Pelicans and began the short drift between the ships.

Once they were on their way, Trent opened up a secure channel with Payton.

"Hey, Payton. Tell me something. How'd you know it was me?"

_"__Well, believe it or not, Temple, you're something of a legend among the UNSC community. The Sole Survivor of New Jerusalem. The Butcher of New Mombasa. The Prophet Killer. Word of your exploits has leaked. The media and the civvies started to talk about you from those little interviews, especially that one you did about the Elites...but then they found other heroes, pretty boys and poster girls and you faded from the public eye._

_"__But not me or my men. I had a friend of mine do a search for you. I wanted to know what had happened to you. Eventually...I managed to get into contact with someone on the inside. Never knew his name, but he told me that you had become known as Specialist Temple and you worked for ONI now on the down-low. That's all he said. When Miller and I got to talking, waiting around for you, he mentioned that he'd met you."_ Trent shot a suspicious gaze at Eric, who was making a point of looking down at his pistol, which he was cleaning. Trent sighed.

"I see. Well, if you could keep that under your hat, I'd appreciate it. What I'm doing here isn't exactly public knowledge, and my superiors want it to stay that way."

_"__You got it, boss man."_ Trent chuckled and cut the link. He glanced pointedly at Eric.

"Thanks for that," he grumbled. Eric sighed and stopped playing with his pistol.

"What can I say? I've got a penchant for trouble."

"Childs would have your ass if he knew...has he given you his little 'this is my life' speech?"

"No. Not yet, apparently."

"Just...stop screwing around, please? Apparently the Survivor Initiative is already on thin ice with the Brass and we shouldn't be making waves." Eric held up his hands.

"Alright, alright. Relax man, or I might start up with the waterworks. No more trouble making, I promise." Trent rolled his eyes.

* * *

><p>The pilot of Trent's Pelican brought then slowly into the hangar of the <em>Pandora<em>. Trent and Eric were ready to go, their suits atmospherically contained, their weapons locked and loaded, the safeties off. Once the Pelican had settled down and run a comprehensive scan of the area, finding nothing alive in the hangar, the back ramp lowered.

Trent stood with Eric, shoulder-to-shoulder, at the back of the Pelican as the ramp continued to lower. Slowly, bit by bit, the hangar was revealed. Immediately, Trent noted with worry that several of the overhead lights were out, plunging the immense hangar into a deep nest of shadows. Spread out across the massive metal deckplates were vehicles: Pelicans, Longswords, Warthogs and more. Trent even spied a Scorpion Tank in the distance.

There was blood, too. It stained the floor, the walls, several of the vehicles. Slowly, keeping an eye on their motion trackers, the pair slowly made their way down the ramp. Almost as soon as they were off, the pilot retracted the ramp and brought the Pelican back into the air. That was part of the deal. Since they had no idea what they were dealing with and since, presumably, it wasn't able to escape the ship, whatever it might be, Childs felt it unnecessary to give it such an ability. The Pelican left them behind.

Once it was gone, an unnatural quiet, broken only by the quiet hum of power, the soft whisper of oxygen filtration and the quiet drip, drip, drip of blood, settled over the hangar. Trent kept his shotgun tight to his shoulder, finger outside the trigger guard for the moment, unwilling to accidentally blast off at anything. Spent shell casings crunched underfoot as the pair of men slowly began to cross the hangar.

"This is Specialist Temple, I want a sound off from both team heads," Trent said. A dark, gloomy silenced mocked him, laden with foreboding. Trent felt cold fear ripple through his system. He repeated his message twice more.

"Shit," Eric growled as they approached the console.

"Yeah, shit indeed. Something must be blocking our transmissions. Well...the men still know the plan, and they all seemed pretty solid. We should just do what we came here to do," Trent replied. Eric nodded and slung his weapon, his hands moving rapidly across a bloodied terminal keyboard. He worked while Trent watched his back. The seconds ticked by sullenly, morphing into long minutes in the bloody solitude. Finally, Eric worked his magic.

"Alright, I've got it, but their internal network is an absolute _mess_. If I didn't know any better, I'd think that this was done on _purpose_. It's a goddamn nightmare in there. Anyway...come here, look at the map. It's not far from the bridge." Eric stepped back from the terminal and allowed Trent a few moments to memorize the route. Once it was finished, the two men stepped away from the console and began to move across the hangar.

"What was that?" Eric asked suddenly, stopping and raising his battle rifle. Trent glanced around, his shotgun raised.

"I didn't hear anything," he replied quietly. Seconds of silence passed. Right as Eric began to say something, very distantly, something metal, possibly a tool, fell off its perch and banged loudly against the ground, echoing out across the lonely expanses of the hangar. Both men jerked, turning around, but saw nothing.

"Let's get this over with," Eric muttered finally. They turned and resumed their trek, their stride a little bit faster.


	69. Part IX: Whispers in the Dark

**Chapter 69  
><strong>_-Whispers in the Dark-_

The way to the bridge was ominous and harrowing. The tension hit Trent the second they stepped out of the ruined hangar and began to build relentlessly as they made the long, slow walk to the bridge. Trent knew the way there, it was a simple walk down a particularly long corridor, but already they could see signs of blood and terror. Overhead, the lights remained mostly intact, but several of them were dead or flickering.

Blood painted the walls, the floor and the ceiling in thick sprays and ugly pools. Spent shell casings carpeted the ground. Several panels along the walls were broken or sparking. Something terrible and nightmarish had come to the _Pandora_, and, Trent knew, still lurked somewhere in the looming darkness. Several of the doors they passed were either welded or wedged shut, and those few that did open showed bleak, bloodstained interiors. Trent had his shotgun in hand now, safety off, and decided to try and lighten the mood.

"So, I had sex with a Spartan," he said conversationally, glancing back the way they had come.

"Oh yeah? Model three or four?" Eric replied.

"Two." Eric looked over at him sharply.

"Two!? How did you even _manage_ that? I'd heard they were all dead...well, most of them anyway." Trent chuckled.

"Thought you knew everything, Eric."

"Not _everything_, but enough...so who? Oh wait...is _that_ the Linda you were talking about? Isn't she like...forty two?"

"Chronologically, I guess. But she's spent at least a few years in cryo-sleep, plus you know how naturally fit Spartans are. And I'm sure she works out a lot..."

"Huh...and that whole an entire foot taller than you didn't, I don't know, leave you a little limp? I have to admit, I'd be intimidated."

"Oh yeah, I was intimidated, rightly so...I nearly threw my back out trying to satisfy her. God, never met a woman with such ridiculous stamina...but it was a lot of fun. Very worth it."

"How did you get her to agree to it?"

"She approached me."

"Huh..."

They both fell silent, their raised spirits dropping immediately as a long, despair howl suddenly echoed down the corridor to them. They both spun around, weapons raised, only to find a length of deserted, lonely passageway. Trent shuddered as the last of the echoes died away. There was something disturbingly human about that sound. Finally, after another few seconds, the men turned and resumed their walk, this time moving faster.

Eventually, the corridor terminated in a right-hand turn. They made the turn, followed another, much shorter corridor to its halfway mark, which made a left-hand turn. This final corridor ended shortly in a massive set of firmly closed double doors. A familiar cluster of ODSTs hovered around the door, one of them knelt in front of a sparking control pad. Sergeant Payton approached Trent and Eric as they came into view.

"Glad you make it to the party...you heard from Miller's squad?" he asked, his voice taking on a grim tone. Trent shook his head.

"No. Nothing. Radios are dead. We were hoping to get a better picture of what's happening once we broke into the bridge. Glad you made it though, hate to think our chances in this hellhole if _you_ two couldn't cut it."

"You've got no idea," Eric muttered in reply. Suddenly, the man at the console, who Trent recognized as Shepard, made a happy noise, which was promptly followed by a whirl and a pop. The doors slowly began to open. Trent, Eric and the ODSTs formed up, weapons pointed forward. Apprehension rippled through the squad. Trent took in the bridge as the doors opened and he, Eric and Payton took point.

It was a large, open room, fairly different from what a standard bridge looked like. The far front wall was dominated by a massive window made of supposedly unbreakable quartz. Several large cranks ran along it, but it looked as though it still held its own. What was presumably the captain's chair sat on a raised dais in the center of the room, in front of which sat a flickering holographic projector.

More flickering or sparking consoles ringed the exterior of the room. Several of them were dark and dead. Trent and the others slowly spread out, leaving a pair of men behind to guard the door. They cleared the room, finding that the huge, open bridge didn't really have many places to hide. Once that was finished, the group met in the center, staring at the flickering image. Trent tried to make sense of it, but was distracted when Eric asked,

"So...where are all the corpses?" Payton nodded grimly.

"Yeah, I've been wondering that myself. All I've seen so far, well..." He reached forward and picked up a severed hand which had been sitting on the base of the projector. He tossed it aside, and as he did, the image the machine was trying to project cleared up considerably. It still flickered occasionally, but still held its shape.

"God, what is _that_?" Shepard whispered. Trent leaned forward, staring silently. The image looked to be of some bizarrely carved statue or totem or monolith of some kind. It was essentially a pair of twisting lengths of what might have been rock that curved and twined together, going straight up from a base, to end in twin peaks. Strange symbols and rivulets ran along its surface, and they all glowed a sullen red.

"I have no idea...but I think it might be the artifact Childs mentioned," Trent murmured. Payton glanced over interestedly, but held his peace. Trent thought about the situation for a moment. For the most part, it hadn't changed. Finally, he nodded to himself.

"Alright. Eric and the other three technicians in our fun little group, find me a console that works and figure out the status of the ship." There were a string of affirmative replies, and the four of them split up, moving in separate directions across the bridge. While they worked, and the two riflemen guarded the doors, Payton moved closer to Trent's side.

"So, what are you thinking?" he asked quietly.

"We're going to have to split up. Once we know the state of the ship, I'll dole out orders to the others, but I'm going to go alone after Miller's squad and figure out what went wrong. After that, well," he shrugged. "We'll figure it out."

Time passed in uncomfortable fragments. The four technicians moved slowly about the bridge, checking out any hopeful looking terminals. After about ten minutes, Eric finally found one and immediately set to work. Another five minutes passed, and then he called everyone forward to gather around him.

"Okay, this is the _Icarus_, apparently." He pointed to an image of the ship, which dominated most of the screen before him. "Besides gravity, atmosphere and heating and cooling, almost nothing is working on this ship. Communications are shot. Navigation is practically gone. The engines are shattered. Main reactor is down and the back up reactor is running low. LifeScan is down. The security network is a joke. Other scanners are just barely working...and from what little sensors I have left, I've been able to determine that something is deliberately blocking internal communications. Not sure what it is, but it's located in lower maintenance."

"Alright," Trent said after a moment of studying the map. "Payton, take one of your technicians and a rifleman and get to that comms jammer. Destroy it. Send the rest of your men to the primary reactor, we need it stable and online. Eric, you're staying here." Eric knitted his eyebrows in confusion, glancing up at Trent.

"What? Why?"

"I want to know who owns this ship, what that artifact is they found and exactly who are these bastards that have been dogging us for the past few months. How long do you think it'll take?" Eric sighed and glanced back down at the screen.

"A while, at least. Their internal network is pretty blazed, Trent. I mean, the information might have been erased or lost...but, I have to admit, I want to know, too. And if anyone could do it, it'd be me. Alright, I'll get cracking."

"Good." Trent had everyone download a map of the ship into their internal databases, then memorize the way to their targets. He wished the men luck, then saw them off. He moved back over to Eric's station, noting the man had taken off his helmet to work and set it aside on the floor. While Trent studied the map as it downloaded into his own suit, he noticed Eric wince and began massaging his temples.

"You alright?"

"Yeah. Just a headache."

"You see to get a lot of those." Eric shifted uncomfortably.

"Yeah." Trent waited for further explanation, but the man remained silent. Trent shrugged mentally and finished downloading the map and memorizing the route. He bid Eric good luck and farewell, then left the bridge.

* * *

><p>The way to Miller's hangar was bloodier than ever. Trent felt isolated and lonely in a way that made his heart ache, even though he'd just left Eric and the others not five minutes ago. But there was something about this ship, this...<em>Icarus<em>, that made him feel as though he might be the only man left in the entire galaxy.

He tried to keep his spirits up, or at least occupied, as he hurried on towards the hangar. Trent tried studying his surroundings, but it was all just the same long stretch of bloodied, flickering corridor. The shotgun didn't feel as comforting and powerful as it once had. The longer he spent onboard this death ship, the longer he felt as though he were being watched and, worse, hunted. He kept looking over his shoulder.

Probably the thing that bugged Trent the most was the lack of comms. He kept his channel open, just in case, but so far he had heard nothing, not even the typically bursts of static that punctuated the channel every now and then. As he began to reach the end of his journey, Trent frowned and stopped. He could hear...something, right at the edge of his hearing. He spent a few moments trying to determine whether it was on the radio or in the corridor with him. Finally, he decided that it had to be both, somehow.

At first, it was just a soft ghost of sound, but then it coalesced into something more. A voice. Whispering. He couldn't tell if it was male or female, or what it was even saying, only that it was repeating over and over again. Finally, right as Trent was ready to just give up and ignore it, the voice became instantly louder, sharper and clearer.

_"__It's dark here. Here...the birds burn."_

Trent felt a sharp knife of icy fear stab at his chest and he whirled around, hunting for something, anything physical to unleash his fear on. But there was nothing, just an empty stretch of corridor. His mind flashed back to Silent Hill, to watching Paulson's corpse tell him that...Trent broke into a run suddenly, his heavy bootprints echoing down the passageway.

He had to get this over with, get off this ship and get help. He needed to be re-evaluated by Childs and his staff and their machine. But he had to keep it together, just long enough to get through this. Trent suddenly found himself standing before the door that led to the hangar. Scrawled across it was a message, written in blood.

_They've come to make us sane._

With that disturbing thought in mind, Trent opened the door. He managed to take one step into the hangar before being stopped. Fresh blood was sprayed everywhere, mixed in were spent shell casings from the assault rifles Miller had outfitted his ODSTs with. The guns laid on the ground in the blood, so did their pistols. No helmets, though, no sign of what had actually taken them out. Which was incredibly disturbing, given the amount of bullets they'd shot off. Trent slowly began to walk into the massive hangar.

He came to where they men had made their last stand, in what Trent imagined was little more than a circle in the middle of all this open space. As he prepared to begin his search, something shifted not far away, among a large pile of crates. Raising his shotgun, eyes wide, heart pounding, Trent started making his way over to it.


	70. Part IX: The Sleep of Reason

**Chapter 70  
><strong>_-The Sleep of Reason-_

Trent felt tension mounting as he made a slow approach towards the pile of crates. The sounds were vaguely familiar and not outright threatening, but he wasn't willing to take any chances. He reached the crates and began sidestepping, continuing until whatever it was came into view. He stared at it for a moment, then felt relief flood through him. An ODST sat on the ground, his armor splattered with blood and gore. He was hugging his knees to his chestplate, gently rocking back and forth, muttering rapidly to himself.

"Hey," Trent whispered, looking around. "Hey, get up." They remained alone, at least as far as he could tell, but the pervasive sense of being watch lingered ominously. The man seemed to finally notice that someone else was there with him. He stopped muttering and looked cautiously over at Trent. He slowly began to stand.

"Oh God...oh...I thought everyone was dead...I thought..._they_ killed them all..." he whispered rapidly. His face was hidden behind his opaque visor, which was cracked slightly and sprayed with a bit of very wet blood, but Trent imagined his face was nothing but pale skin and very wide eyes. Trent stepped forward.

"What happened? Where's the others?" The man shook his head.

"They...were taken. The...things. The monsters. The sleep of reason breeds monsters..." he whispered. He began trembling. Trent swallowed nervously and glanced around again. What could he have seen that would have driven him so insane? It took a lot to so thoroughly shake an ODST. Being a hardass was basically in the job description. He'd heard reports of some Marines cracking like this after an encounter with the Flood, but an ODST?

Trent wasted another ten minutes slowly hunting through the hangar for some clue or hint as to what had happened to Miller and the others. All the while, the ODST, whose name was PFC Reed, followed him around. Trent tried to get more information out of him, but all he seemed to be interested in was making vague references to monsters. He ended his search at the door he'd originally come in through, finding nothing but blood and bullets for all his trouble. Finally, frustrated, he turned to face Reed.

"Can you still use that?" he asked, pointing to the assault rifle still clutched grimly in the battered man's hands. Reed glanced down at the rifle for several seconds, then finally looked back up at Trent and nodded. He seemed to be coming around.

"Yeah...I think I can. I hope so, at least," he replied quietly. It was the most level answer he'd given since they'd met. Trent considered pumping him for more information, but ultimately decided against it. Chances were the guy would just descend into inane babbling again. Sighing softly, Trent led the way back out into the corridor. He was just going to have to link up with Payton's team and hope for the best.

With Reed in tow, Trent began to make his way down the corridor, straining his ears against the near silence for any sign of threat. He was so focused that he nearly had a heart attack when his radio crackled to life.

_"__Can anyone hear me? This is Sergeant Payton, I repeat, can anyone hear me?"_

"I hear you, Sergeant. Sounds like you broke through the jammer," Trent replied, pausing in the corridor.

_"__Yeah, we did. It was a little thrown together...but very effective. This was definitely done on purpose."_

"I see...everyone, report in. Miller, can you hear me?" There was a lengthy pause, after which Trent sighed. "Eric, what've you got for me? Anything?"

_"__Yeah. A big mess. It looks like someone tried to flash-fry the system in a hurry, but failed, then tried a more traditional purge and failed that too. The system is a real mess, everything in disarray, but it looks like there's a significant amount of information left. I've just got to access it, which shouldn't take very long. One interesting thing that I have found is that the holographic image we saw on the bridge is indeed the 'artifact' Childs was referring to. They're calling it the Marker. They found it WAY out in the middle of nowhere..."_

"Wonderful. Any idea what it is? Where it came from? What it does?"

_"__No. Not yet. I'm pretty sure it's not Forerunner though."_

"Fantastic. LifeScan?"

_"__Still down, it's going to take someone to physically be there to get it back up. Any luck finding Miller's team?"_ Trent stared unhappily at Reed, who looked back at him from behind his visor, holding his rifle with mostly steady hands.

"It looks like they're all dead but one, PFC Reed. I don't know what happened to them, but it looked very, very violent."

_"__Well, what does Reed say?"_ Payton asked.

"Nothing. He's...unreliable, at least in that department. But he's a tech, so he and I are going to make for LifeScan and try to get it up and running again, then we can find out just who's left alive on this death ship."

_"__You want me to join you?"_ Payton asked.

"No. Link up with the rest of your squad in the reactor. Now that Miller's team is basically wiped out, we should really be sticking together. And keep your eyes out for anything...we still don't know what we're up against." Trent could sense the others wanting him to press Reed for information, but they held their peace. He began hurrying towards the a service lift that would take him to the same deck as the LifeScan bay.

Trent felt that there was nothing more Reed could tell him. At least, nothing he was willing or perhaps even able to tell him. Whatever had happened had...broken him. Trent felt like sending him back to the _Darkwind_, but knew that probably wasn't an option, unless he felt like launching an escape pod or Pelican. But he didn't entirely trust the crew of the _Darkwind_ or Childs, for that matter, not to do something rash.

As he walked, he tried to get in touch with his boss.

"Childs, can you hear me?"

_"__Yes, finally! Christ, I've been waiting for you. Staccato has updated me on the Marker and the situation. How soon do you think you can have LifeScan up and running?"_ Childs replied, sounding impatient.

"I don't know. It depends, but hopefully very soon. Shouldn't take more than five minutes to get there. But once we're there? It depends on how thoroughly it's been ravaged."

_"__Ravaged? What do you mean?"_

"I'm beginning to think that someone did most of this on purpose. There's too many clues here that point towards it. Now, whether or not the crew did it or...whatever is onboard with us did it, I don't know."

_"__Alright. Look, I'm preparing more squads of Marines and some ODSTs to come over and help you secure the area. Once you get LifeScan and the main reactor up and running, and it looks relatively safe I'll give the go-ahead. But listen, Trent. As soon as LifeScan is back on track, I want that Marker secured. I want the Marker. We need it."_

"Do you know something I don't?" Trent asked uncomfortably as they found the lift and stepped in. He hit the down button.

_"__No, but obviously these men went to a great deal of trouble to get it and from what I can tell, it's not Forerunner, it's not Covenant...it's something entirely new. Trust me on this. We need that thing."_

"Alright. I've trusted you before, Childs. I'm sure I'll do it again. Just don't let me down."

_"__Right back at you."_ Trent sighed and cut the link. The service lift came to a halt and the door opened to reveal another length of flickering, blood-soaked corridor. It seemed to Trent that the deeper they went into the ship, the worse it got. Not just the state of the ship, but the almost overwhelming sense of being watched and even hunted. It was almost as though things lurked in the vents or the deeper shadows. Trent began to hear whispering, but tried his best to ignore it. He strongly suspected that it wasn't coming from the ship, but rather his head.

They arrived at the LifeScan bay at last. Trent went first, his shotgun pointing first, and found himself in a long, darkened room. The walls were barely lit with dimly blinking lights that studded the exterior of the equipment that comprised the LifeScan device. At the end of the room, some ten meters away, was a desk and terminal. Reed began to make for it, but Trent stopped him. Something was wrong here.

Abruptly, the lights flared to life. The shadows, previously a deep nest, fell away to reveal the horrible truth of the _Icarus_. Trent saw the crew, the men and women in dark armor...only it wasn't them anymore. Only pale imitations of them. They were nightmares cast in decayed flesh and rotting muscle. Tatters of their uniforms and bits of their armor clung grimly to their pallid skin. Their faces had become insane, twisted caricatures of what they had once been. The bottom of each jaw had split open and grown malignant, blood-stained teeth. A new pair of arms that ended in vicious looking, bony scythes sprouted from their shoulders.

There were nearly a dozen of them, and they all howled in the same, despairing tone as they began to advance rapidly on Trent and Reed. The pair immediately opened fire. Trent blew the head off the nearest creature and then watched in horror as it staggered back, shook itself briefly, then kept coming. He cocked the gun, took aim at its chest and fired. The creature staggered once more, then resumed its ominous walk.

"You've gotta be shitting me!" he cried. He struggled for a moment, knowing he had precious, little time, then finally aimed for the next most appealing target: the limbs jutting up from the shoulders. He hit it dead on and half of the arm disintegrated, the rest of it flew away. That seemed to give the thing some legitimate pause. Trent quickly blew off the second arm and this sent the nightmarish thing flying to the ground where it didn't rise.

Hope began to swell and Trent quickly repeated the process with the next nearest beast. This time, he focused on the arms alone and was pleased when the result was the same.

"Shoot their arms off!" he screamed. Reed seemed to be back into somewhat fighting form and did his best to follow the order. The pair of men ended up backing out of the room and into the main corridor, where the things were forced to come at them in ones and twos. Trent emptied his shotgun and hurriedly loaded it back up. Muzzle flares lit the corridor, gun smoke and blood muddied the air and before long a heap of corpses lay on the floor.

"Goddamn...is that what you saw?" Trent asked.

"Yes..." Reed whispered, his voice horror-stricken, but still firm. Trent nodded and finished reloading. Trent led Reed back into the room and, once he was convinced it was empty, set the man to work on repairing the LifeScan. While Reed worked, Trent tried to get into contact with Eric or Payton again, only to find the radio silent. He repeated his messages several times, even trying to contact the _Darkwind _and _Sunstrider_, to no avail.

"Just wonderful," he growled to himself. This kept getting better and better. Trent turned his attention to Reed, who was working rapidly at the controls. As Trent came over, the man stood up and hurried over to a nearby panel. He pried it open with a tool from his kit, then immediately set the work at the inner circuitry.

"How long?" Trent asked, keeping a watchful eye on the area.

"Not long. Just a minute. The damage done was deliberate and effective...but easily fixed," Reed replied quietly, obviously distracted. Trent let him work. Now that he had seen the horrors of _Icarus_, he found that he had even more question than before. Did the Marker do this? It would make sense...but how? And why? Obviously this wasn't the intended side effect. Unless it was, and the guys that ran this ship were _really_ nasty.

"Done." Reed stepped away from the panel, closing it. All of the blinking lights seemed to brighten considerably, and several of them stopped blinking. Almost as soon as the soft _click_ of the panel being fitted back into place sounded, a monster dropped from a vent set into the ceiling and landed on Reed. His scream cut off as one of the scythes punched through the top of his helmet in a thick spray of blood.

Trent snapped his shotgun up and blasted off both the thing's arms point blank, but the damage was done. Reed was dead. After doing his best to make sure the immediate area was still secure, Trent preformed the unenviable task of gathering up Reed's dogtags and spare ammo. After securing it all, Eric's voice erupted back onto the radio.

_"__Trent! Will you answer me, goddammit!?"_ he snapped.

"Yes! Eric, I'm here! What the hell happened to the radio!?"

_"__No idea, but we're in the shit. Deep. LifeScan is back up, it's been...modified, somehow. There are...things, _everywhere_. And I do mean everywhere. At least a thousand of them. There's no one left alive on this tub but you, me and some of Payton's team."_

"Wait, what do you mean 'some'?"

_"__I mean two of them, and one of them ain't doing too well. Look, Trent, I'm close to cracking this database wide open. I've had a few encounters with the...whatever the hell they are already. There's no way we're going to be able to handle this, not even us with our luck."_

"You're right...a _thousand_ of them...shit. Alright, I'm cutting this op short. Get that data or Childs will have our ass. I'm going to get Payton, then I'm going to meet you on the bridge."

_"__Sounds good. I'll be waiting. Payton and the other survivor, Shepard, are in the main reactor bay, fighting off a horde of these things. You'd better hurry up and go."_

"I'm gone."


	71. Part IX: Revelations

**Chapter 71  
><strong>_-Revelations-_

The fight to Payton and Shepard was long, bloody and brutal. It was a hard slog if he'd ever had to go through one. The corridors were alive with an awful kind of undead life, with congealed blood and twisted bones and decayed flesh. At first, it was just the shambling terrors with scythes for hands and arms sprouting from their shoulders, and Trent was positive that he could handle them, despite how flat out freaky they looked and acted.

But then it got worse. He encountered new horrors birthed by the madness of the Marker. He fought bloated things that popped like grenades when shot and loosed a living wave of tiny, fleshy things that seethed across his armor, desperately hunting for a way in. He battled titanic scorpion creatures that could launch themselves across the room with startling dexterity. He fought nine foot tall skeletal things made of sickly white flesh that destructed into a half dozen writhing creatures when defeated.

The battle raged on and on, and though his shotgun was trusty and his shot was true, Trent felt himself being overwhelmed. He depleted his shotgun after only five minutes of combat and his hands and arms were numb from such constant firing. When the fat red shells he fed into the slide finally ran dry, he ducked into a side corridor and dropped all the grenades he had on his person. The explosions rang and thudded as shrapnel cut through flesh and bone alike. Trent emerged back into the passageway to find it mostly empty.

Slinging his shotgun, he ran on towards the reactor bay, praying that Payton and Shepard would still be alive and this wasn't all for naught. He pulled out his pistol and used it to cut through more nightmarish creatures that stumbled from the shadows or fell from holes in the ceiling. He tried to call Payton on the radio, but found it had broken once more. So he just kept on going, shooting and killing his way through the forsaken corridors.

When he finally reached the reactor bay, he was down to his last magazine and genuinely concerned. He opened the door to find Payton blasting through a pair of monsters, and the Sergeant nearly whirled on him and put a slug shell into Trent's chest, but managed to relax his finger that crucial centimeter upon realization.

"Holy shit, where the _hell_ have you been?!" Payton cried, hastily reloading. Trent took in the battle-stricken nature of the reactor bay and the dozens of corpses, some of them ODSTs, as he hurried over to Payton's position in a small alcove created by a pair of bulky pieces of machinery. Trent found a small stash of ammo and began stocking up.

"Sorry, Payton, I've been a bit busy. I'm pulling the plug on this op, where's Shepard?" Trent replied. Payton shook his head.

"Didn't make it. Bled out. Everyone but me is dead," he replied grimly. Trent sighed and kicked one of the rotted corpses in frustration.

"Alright, we need to get back to the bridge, then to a shuttle bay. Staccato is still alive, but no one else. It's just us. Come on." Payton looked grim and harried, but battle-hardened and ready for anything. The pair loaded up, taking as much of the ammo scavenged from the other ODSTs as possible, before heading back out of the reactor bay.

The way back to the bridge was no easier than the bloody path Trent had cut through the _Icarus_ to the reactor bay. He and Payton were both quiet, their faces set and grim behind their opaque visors, as they silently murdered their way through wave after wave of the nightmares cast in flesh that infected the ship. By the time the bridge doors came into view, Trent was exhausted and knew he'd need a break sooner rather than later.

He held off the last of the creatures as Payton opened the door, and then the two of them slipped hurriedly through and shut it firmly behind them. Trent looked out across the bridge, finding it mostly empty, save for a few recently made corpses. Eric was hunched over his console and currently locked in a bitter argument with someone. Payton watched the door while Trent walked slowly over and tried to figure out what was going on.

"You _knew_ about this, didn't you!?" Eric yelled, slamming his fist on the console. He was staring into the screen, which showed, through a haze of static, Childs' head and shoulders. His face was stoic, his gaze revealed nothing.

_"__I had my suspicions, Staccato, but nothing for certain. And now you've proven my suspicions." _Childs glanced at Trent as he came over. _"Hello, Trent."_

"What's going on?" Trent replied.

"This jack-off neglected to tell us that the men in black armor, the ones that have been harassing us for months now, are Black Ops. They've gone rogue." Trent opened his mouth, but was at a loss for words. His mind worked for several seconds. Black Ops...he remembered how much Childs had bad-mouthed them, how suspicious he was of them. Trent had always assumed that the men in black armor might be some rogue military faction, or even just a group of highly-funded rebels with stolen UNSC armor and equipment...

"You're sure?" he asked finally.

_"__Yes,"_ Childs replied. _"Eric just dug it out of their database, thought not much else, unfortunately. It's Black Ops alright. It's as we feared from the beginning, they've gone rogue and have been actively attempting to stop ONI and the Survivor branch. They're going to be in a lot of trouble, and damn the clearance they have, but...I doubt they'll be anywhere we can find them without some serious digging. I'm going to get to work on that right away."_

"So what do we do _now_?" Trent asked.

_"__Nothing's changed. Secure the Marker, bring it to the _Darkwind_. There'll be a contingent of ODSTs there to lock it down and put it in storage, then we're getting it to a secure location."_

"Fair enough, but...why didn't you tell us about Black Ops?" Trent replied.

_"__Because I didn't know for a fact and I didn't want anyone rushing off and doing anything stupid,"_ Childs replied, with a pointed look at Eric, who remained quietly fuming.

"Okay, fine, but why didn't you tell us you at least suspected them? You really think we'd rush of blindly?"

_"__I didn't tell you mainly because you didn't need to know."_

"You know, Childs, I'm getting really sick of this need to know bullshit." Trent jabbed his finger at the screen, his frustration building. "_You_ are going to end up just like the goddamned Black Ops, always keeping secrets from everyone, even your most trusted agents..._we_ are out here in the field, risking our asses in situations that will probably kill us, luck be damned. If you have information, then you tell us." That seemed to give Childs some pause, being compared to Black Ops. Finally, he heaved a world-weary sigh.

_"__Alright, look, we'll talk about it when you two get back, okay? Just...get the Marker."_

"Alright." Eric cut the link, leaned back and began to massage his temples.

"God, I have a horrible headache," he moaned.

"You going to be able to make it?" Trent asked.

"Yeah, I can make it," he snapped. Then hesitated. "Sorry, it's just..." Eric was silent for a long moment. He finally grabbed his medical kit and pulled out some painkillers. It made Trent think of morphine. He suddenly wanted more. Eric popped some of the painkillers and replaced them.

"Black Ops killed a friend of mine, a couple years ago." Trent was quiet, waiting for him to continue. "Me and my friend...we were really close. Both of us liked looking for information we weren't supposed to know about. I _hate_ cover ups, and Black Ops is the ultimate cover up. Oh sure, they've saved a colony here and there, but you never hear about the experiments, the people that disappear, the Flood...they did a lot of experimentation with the Flood and live human subjects...my friend and I got on Black Op's trail and they made him disappear right quick. I barely got out alive, I don't think they ever found it my real identity..."

"So you want them dead, huh?" Trent asked after a long moment.

"Yes, for professional and personal reasons. But I'm not an idiot, and we're going to keep Childs straight, because I'll be damned if I let the Survivor Initiative end up like Black Ops..." Silence filled the bridge then, broken occasionally by distant shrieks. Eric stirred, finally.

"Alright, come on, we really need to be going. The way to the bay holding the shuttle and the Marker isn't all that far, and it should be a pretty easy process of getting it loaded onto the shuttle should be simple. It's just those damned things..." A look of mischief suddenly passed across Eric's face. "But lemme do something first, real quick."

He moved over to another console and began feeding commands into it for several moments. While he did, Trent began to make sure his weapons were loaded and ready to go. He scavenged a bit of spare ammo from corpses on the bridge, and by the time he'd finished up, so had Eric. The three men gathered at the door, preparing themselves for one more plunge into the sea of coagulated blood and decayed flesh.

"So what did you do?" Trent asked, tucking his shotgun tight against his shoulder.

"Laid in a course for the ship, to be enacted remotely via the shuttle once we're onboard and safely moving away," Eric replied proudly, smirking. Trent raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? And where might that course be?"

"Into the nearest star. It'll make the jump to slipspace and _boom_, it'll be gone." Trent wasn't sure what to say to that, so he didn't say anything and merely opened up the door. The way to the hangar holding the Marker was, in fact, very easy. Suspiciously so. There was nothing waiting for them in the corridors, nothing lurking in the shadows. Trent stirred uneasily as they hurried on. He could feel tension mounting, and found himself thinking of the time back in Voi when he'd had his first encounter with that massive Flood beast.

He thought of Eric's words about Black Ops. During his time in the UNSC there had been rumors, there always were, of such things. Secret government experiments and cover ups, mysterious disappearances, ghost ships and derelict colonies...the shadow men who came for you in the night if you asked too many questions. Trent had always made it a point not to ask questions, early on, but he found as he entered the ODSTs he didn't give much of a damn about keeping his head down anymore. There didn't seem to be much reason to.

They arrived at the hangar bay very suddenly and Trent froze. The Marker stood in the center, massive and monolithic, its twin spires nearly touching the ceiling. The thing was huge and disturbing, its surface covered with glowing red runes, like characters of some forgotten or even unknown alien language. The Marker permeated a sense of dread and foreboding, a malignant feeling of pure evil. Trent shuddered and felt a headache begin to slowly well just behind his eyes as he continued staring at it.

Eric groaned sickly next to him.

"Are you going to be alright?" Trent asked.

"I...I don't know. That thing...God, my head. We need to hurry," Eric replied, his voice heavy and pained. Trent nodded tightly. The way looked clear. The trio hurried across the bay and Eric began working on a console set up against the Marker, which, Trent noted, was on a track set into the ground that could easily move it. Across the way was a Pelican converted to hold a payload. Apparently, someone had been planning for a contingency such as this. Eric began working furiously, his breath coming heavy now.

Trent kept a wary eye open as he and Payton waited. He couldn't help but feel that something was coming. Something bad. His headache continued to swell and, after a few moments, it had gotten so bad that his vision was beginning to swim. He groaned and tried to focus, tried to will the pain away. But he had limited success. He gripped his shotgun and his head snapped up as he sensed a change in the air.

Something was coming.

"What's that?" Payton whispered, looking around.

"I don't...Eric, see if you can hurry it up," Trent replied nervously. Eric muttered something incoherent in reply, but his fingers still moved with a sure certainty. The door they had come in through, now firmly shut and locked, suddenly let out a bang. Trent and Payton whirled around, Eric seemed hardly to have noticed. There was now a massive dent in the door. Trent swallowed as he watched a second, third and fourth dent appear. Something wanted in, desperately. And that door wasn't going to stop it for much longer.

Trent moved to one side of the bay, hiding behind a derelict Pelican. Payton broke to the other side, crouching behind a stack of crates. They waited impatiently. Trent shot another look at Eric, who's face was strained, sweaty and deathly pale. He looked on the verge of passing out. Trent didn't feel so great himself. The headache was slowly building again. He shot a black look at the Marker...what the hell _was_ that thing?

Abruptly, the door exploded inwards in a shower of sparks and rending metal. Something new, some abysmal terror dredged up from the depths of Hell itself, burst into the room. It was huge, enormous, easily the biggest thing they'd come across. It was roughly ten feet tall, and looked almost as wide as it was high. It was made of especially blackened flesh, and seemed to be encased in some kind of living armor that gleaned dully beneath the hangar lights. It had two enormous arms, almost like an ape of some kind.

The titan let loose a roar that froze Trent's marrow as he and Payton began to open fire on it. The bullets seemed to have almost no effect. The beast seemed to hesitate as it chose its target, then it bolted towards Payton. He didn't have a chance. The behemoth burst through the crates, sending them flying, and fell upon Payton. As it did, Trent spied something important, a piece of the thing that looked somehow vulnerable.

Its back. He thought of the Hunters he had fought before and raised his shotgun, hurrying forward to get a shot. While it was busy with Payton, who was screaming and firing frantically, Trent leveled the shotgun and fired into its back. The thing let loose with a roar as a spray of black gore escaped it in a thick plume. Trent fired again, and a third time, not giving it a chance to recover. Abruptly, the beast fell forward and was still.

Trent rushed forward and used all of his strength and whatever additions the suit lent him and managed to shift the huge thing off of Payton. Little good it did him. The Sergeant stared up at him with blank eyes through his shattered visor. He was dead. Trent turned away, sickened and tired of seeing the dead, and his eyes fell on Eric.

"It's done," he said quietly. The man looked horrible. His eyes weren't focusing properly and he almost seemed thinner, more gaunt than he had even a moment ago. Behind him, the Marker shifted, and began traveling along its track towards the Pelican.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Trent replied. Eric nodded weakly. As they began to run for the Pelican, the sounds of the monsters rose and fell. More were coming. Trent didn't intend to be here when they arrived. The back ramp of the Pelican was open and waiting. The pair hurried up it, cleared it, then Trent hit the close button as Eric settled, or rather dropped, into the pilot's seat. He hurriedly ran through the warmup procedures and, once he was certain the Marker was locked onboard, he fired up the engines and left the _Icarus_.

Trent joined him up in the cockpit, and watched as he almost immediately keyed the code to launch the _Icarus_ into the nearest sun. Trent glanced into one of the monitors, which displayed a rearview camera, and watched the ship begin to accelerate. Ahead of them were the _Darkwind_ and the _Sunstrider_. Eric began trying to raise one of them, but before he could, movement on the rearview camera caught both their attentions.

"Oh, no..." Eric moaned sickly. Trent was at a loss for words.

Shooting out from the _Icarus_, like bloating corpses loosed from a sunken ship, floating to the surface, were escape pods. There were at least a dozen of them, maybe more, and more were firing all the time.

They were all heading for the _Darkwind_.


	72. Part IX: Darkwind

**Chapter 72  
><strong>_-Darkwind-_

"Why aren't they opening fire?" Trent asked, the horror creeping into his voice. They watched as the escape pods made their long, slow march towards the _Darkwind_. Any second now, both men expected to see the classic blossom of Archer Missiles, which might not have been worth much against the Covenant but could for damn sure deal with a couple of dozen escape pods. But there was nothing. Trent realized he'd been holding his breath in anticipation, and let it out in a slow, miserable exhale as the first pod crashed into the hull of the _Darkwind_.

It was quickly followed by a second and third, and almost immediately followed by even more. Eric was shaking his head.

"They must've been listening in, or something," he muttered.

"They're a lot smarter than we thought," Trent agreed begrudgingly. "Head for that hangar, there. We'll land and help out. Actually, call up Childs really quick." Eric nodded and silently did as he was asked. A moment later, one of the screens cleared to show Childs.

"So I imagine you've got some idea of what's happening?" Trent asked.

_"__Yes. Nothing's changed, not exactly. Get the Marker to Hangar Twelve. There's a contingent of ODSTs waiting for you there. They'll guard the Marker. I've been in touch with the Captain of the ship...something's gone really, suspiciously wrong with his security system all of a sudden and he's deaf and blind without that system. I want you and Eric to go to the system's core and fix it, then maybe we can get this mess under control."_

"Why don't you want the Marker on your ship? It'd be a lot easier," Eric said suddenly. Childs shook his head.

_"__No. It's too dangerous. I don't have the proper security here and the Marker...seems to have ill effects those in close proximity to it. I'd advise you two not to linger once you get onboard, you both look horrible. Especially you, Eric."_

"You really know how to lay on the compliments, boss," Eric grumbled as he brought the Pelican towards Hangar Twelve. Childs cut the link without further comment and Eric and Trent waited while the Pelican finished coming into the ship. Trent checked out his weapons, making sure everything was ready for action. He stared ahead at the hangar as the Pelican landed. It looked intact, though a few monstrous corpses littered the deckplates. He was relieved to see a contingent of a dozen ODSTs in full armor waiting for them.

Once they landed, the pair exited the Pelican and met with the ODSTs. They looked at the pair inquisitively.

"Guard this Pelican with your life," Trent said simply. The ODST apparently in charge just nodded and began giving out orders to the others, who started taking up defensive positions. Trent and Eric hurried across the bay to a console at its far side. Eric plugged into it and called up a map of the ship. Within a few moments, he and Trent had the route to the security core worked out. The men set out into the infested ship.

The sounds of combat aboard the _Darkwind_ rose and fell around them as hundreds of men and women fought for their lives. Trent kept his attention focused, but glanced over at Eric as they hurried down the brightly lit corridor. The man looked worse than ever. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot, his face gaunt and almost deathly pale now. Trent wondered how bad he looked. He decided he didn't want to know.

Another hard slog. How many of these had Trent gone through? How many more were there in his life? The corridors were rife with conflict, and they came across a dozen different firefights, bypassing most, but stopping to help with a few of them. The Marines seemed to be holding their own, but Trent and Eric knew it was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed. So, eventually, they stopped helping out.

The _Darkwind_ had become a twisted nightmare of flickering corridors by the time the pair reached the security core. It was a large room, the ceiling twenty feet over their heads. Most of the floor space was taken up by bulky equipment. The pair of men split up, doing a hasty search of the room. It appeared almost untouched by the conflict, and something immediately threatened Trent's paranoia-sharpened combat senses.

"Here," Eric said quietly, his voice strained, as though he were putting up with a great deal of pain. He found a console and hurriedly accessed it. Trent kept watch, his eyes lingering on the deeper shadows that seemed to plague the edges of the room. Something was wrong here. Deeply, horribly wrong.

"This is weird," Eric muttered, looking up from the console. He glanced over at a panel on the wall that seemed undamaged.

"What?" Trent replied apprehensively. He kept his shotgun ready. Eric turned and began to walk over to the panel in question.

"Seems like this equipment was damaged, but the panel looks fine." He reached the panel and pried it open. The space behind the panel birthed a line of blue-white sparks, causing Eric to step back slightly. He stared into the guts of the ship, beyond the panel.

"Yes, this was done intentionally. I just have to repair some wires, replace a few-" He leaped back suddenly as a scythe came out from a shadowy crevice to his right. He backed up to Trent and they both kept their guns trained on the niche in between the wall and a big piece of machinery. Something intimidating stalked out of the shadows.

It resembled one of the original monsters Trent had encountered, though its original arms had grown long, lethal-looking scythes, instead of arms that grew out of its shoulders. It was huge, easily eight feet tall, and encased in black, living armor, much like the titan they'd fought back onboard the _Icarus_. It loosed a roar of brutal fury as it began to advance on the pair of men. Trent and Eric opened fire, easily blowing off both its arms and its legs.

The creature fell to the ground and began thrashing violently, little more than a torso and a mutilated head. Trent began to walk forward, to put it out of his misery, but then faltered as new arms and legs erupted from its body.

The thing began to climb to its feet.

"You have _got_ to be shitting me," Eric whispered.

"Eric, make the repairs, I'll take care of this thing," Trent replied. Eric glanced over at him uncertainly for a moment, then nodded. Trent began moving away, deeper into the room, pumping out shells into the broad chest of the living nightmare. He drew its attention. It roared and set off after him, not moving particularly fast, as though it knew he had nowhere to go and it had all the time in the world. Trent swallowed nervously.

He blasted the thing's legs off as soon as it was halfway across the room and Eric slipped over to the panel. He could see the tech was working as quickly as possible. Trent tried to give himself some breathing room and blasted its arms off, too. He quickly patted himself down, gathering up shells and feeding them into the shotgun. If he had more shells, he might be able to play keep-away long enough for Eric to get the job done and then help him come up with something. Unfortunately, he had enough shells for another two full loads.

He cocked the gun and waited as the beast began to regenerate itself. Trent felt panic gnawing at him. He hadn't before run into a monster he couldn't straight up kill with bullets or grenades. Grenades...that gave Trent an idea. He blew holes in the limbs of the creature as it advanced on him again, then did a quick count of his grenades. He didn't like the amount he had left: three frags, nothing else.

"Eric!" he called.

"Yeah?!"

"How many grenades you got on you!?" There was a brief pause, then,

"Two!" Trent sighed. It'd have to do.

"Throw 'em over!" Eric tossed them hurriedly over his shoulder. Trent caught them and pocketed them. He turned around, prepared to waste another four shells and reload, and barely had time to dodge back as the beast clawed at him.

"Shit!" he snapped, retreating hurriedly. It was getting faster. He quickly blew its legs off, leaving its arms, and ran over to the far wall. There was a window there, the only one in the room. Trent worked fast, he fired the last two shells in his gun into the window, hurriedly reloaded with his last eight, then began beating on the window with the butt of the gun, trying to soften it up. It cracked, but only a bit. He spun and blasted out the arms and legs of the monster, which was dangerously close, then laid all five grenades in a pile right up next to the window.

"Eric! How long?!" Trent cried.

"Done!" Eric shouted back, slamming the panel shut.

"Suit up!" Trent pulled the pin on one of the grenades and began sprinting towards the door, while simultaneously sealing his suit. There was a pause, and he made it a good distance, when all five of the grenades blew in rapid succession. Trent glanced over his shoulder as he immediately began to feel the pull of out-rushing atmosphere. The beast, which had just regrown its legs, was ravaged by the explosion and sucked out the hole Trent had made. He smiled grimly, and then continued fighting against the increasing pressure.

It was a close call, but the pair managed to make it out the far door, at the end of it being forced to crawl along the deckplates. When they were out, trying to recover their breaths, Trent patched into the comms network and sought out the Captain.

_"__Yes, this the Captain, who the hell am I speaking to?"_ He sounded harried and bitter.

"Specialist Trent Temple, from ONI. Look, Captain, we've got your security network back online. How are things going?" Trent replied.

_"__From bad to worse. All getting the network back up has done has showed me how hopeless the situation is. I don't know what these things are, but they seemed to be spreading faster than the damned Flood. I'm calling for an abandon ship. I _swear_ I've been betrayed by someone on the inside."_ Eric cut in.

"I'd have to agree with out, Captain. The damage done to the security core was very deliberate. And something was waiting for us there. Listen, once you get your people to the escape pods, I'd advise you to plot a course to the nearest sun. It's less than a quarter light-year from here, it's where I sent the _Icarus_." There was a brief pause, then,

_"__I'll do that."_ The Captain sounded very resigned, and very tired. _"She was a good ship...but now she's gone bad. I hope whatever you bastards at ONI were looking for was worth it." _The Captain signed off without another word. They began to hear his voice over the main comms, calling for an immediate evacuation. Childs' voice almost immediately filled both their heads.

_"__Trent, Eric, get back to the hangar with the Marker, now. Something's wrong."_ He sounded panicked. Both men shot off, racing through the derelict passageways full of blood and broken light. Uncertain shapes shifted in the darkness and Trent tried to ignore them. Several minutes later they burst into the hangar and stopped. Almost all of the ODSTs were dead, save for one, who was currently walking up the ramp to the Pelican that still held the Marker.

"Hey!" Trent called. He raised his pistol. The ODST hesitated, then reluctantly turned and fixed Trent with a solid stare. Trent was briefly thrown off by the stare. It was backed up by eyes that glowed a deep crimson from within. The face inside the helmet was lean and gaunt and very pale, but it did not look unhealthy. More like deadly.

"Temple...I was wondering when you and Staccato would show up," the man said with a dark grin. Trent could sense Eric's distress at his side and risked a glance. Eric looked like he was barely keeping himself together now. He looked back at the mystery man.

"Who are you?"

"Razor...and your end."

"Are you Black Ops?" A look of brief surprise passed across Razor's face, but it came and went so fast that Trent thought he might have imagined it.

"Very astute, Temple. Don't bother following." Eric suddenly cried out and collapsed. Trent turned, distracted, to find Eric crumpled on the floor. He wasn't obviously injured, but Trent knew he'd need a more in-depth examination at a medical facility to verify anything. By the time he'd turned back, Razor was gone and the back ramp was closing. Trent yelled and began running forward, firing into the closing Pelican, hoping for a lucky shot. But the Pelican shut up and lifted off before he'd crossed even half the distance.

It slipped out of the hangar and was gone. Distantly, Trent could hear roaring and shrieking. He hurried back to Eric and lifted him, making for another nearby Pelican. He tried to check him over for more wounds, trying to see if it was something Razor had done, but finally surmised that he must have been overwhelmed by the deadly nature of the Marker.

"Childs! Childs, answer me dammit!" Trent shouted.

_"__Trent, talk to me, what's going on!?"_

"Some Black Ops bastard named Razor just stole the Marker!"

_"__WHAT?!"_

"Yeah! Get on him! Disable his engines or something!"

_"__He'll never be able to outrun is, Pelicans don't have slipspace drives. Wait...oh no. You've got to be-oh no."_ Trent hurried up the ramp. He felt the maddening headache, the pressure of insanity, gently decreasing to more tolerable levels now that the Marker was out of his presence. He deposited Eric into one of the seats, hit the close button on the back ramp and then strapped him in. Once he made sure the ramp was closed, he hurried forward towards the cockpit.

"What's going on, Childs?"

_"__A ship...it was cloaked. It's been here all this time. Oh dear God, it's-"_ Childs' voice disappeared in a sudden haze of static and Trent was seized with the immediate fear that the _Sunstrider_ had been destroyed. He strapped into the pilot's seat anyway and ran through the warmup procedures. It wasn't like they could stay here.

Immense relief flooded his system as he cleared the hangar and spied the _Sunstrider_. It was still there, but now it was listing gently to one side, and it looked unusually darkened. At least it wasn't destroyed. All around him, Trent could see escape pods. He focused on the massive, looming shape of the previously cloaked ship. Black Ops had _cloaking_ technology now? He spied Razor's Pelican and prepared to follow, but almost immediately the tiny Pelican was swallowed up by the massive ship. And then the Black Ops ship dropped into slipspace and was gone.

Trent sighed, feeling all of his lethargy catching up with him. They had won this round. It seemed like they were doing that a lot lately. Trent turned the Pelican and began heading for the _Sunstrider_.

Trent glanced back once at Eric's unconscious form, and frowned. There were a lot of questions on his mind, and he intended to get answers for them.


End file.
